


Secret Admirer

by crazynadine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Boys Kissing, Drinking, Flirting, Homophobic Language, Instant Attraction, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Over the top gift giving, Recreational Drug Use, Secret Admirer, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Teacher Ian Gallagher, Valentine's Day, delivery driver mickey, stalker vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: In the week leading up to Valentine's Day, Ian starts getting gifts from a secret admirer. The only problem is he's more interested in the man delivering the gifts than the admirer sending them....





	1. Moments by Mandy

Friday, February 7th

 

Ian sighs as he stumbles into his apartment. It's later than he wanted to be home, but he had a good time, so he pushes his worries about his routine to the back of his mind as he drops he keys onto the little table in his entryway and kicks his shoes in the direction of his hall closet. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt, relaxing into the feeling of finally being home. 

He enjoys spending time with his family, but he can't keep up with them like he used to. After he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of seventeen, he had to make a lot of changes. And staying out late and drinking his body weight in booze sadly had to be left in the past. 

Ian had always worried that he'd be the one to inherit Monica's bipolar disorder. Being proven right was like a stab in the gut. He'd resisted the diagnosis for a long time. He hadn't wanted to believe it. He'd lost his way for a while there, dropping out of school and going on a months-long bender, doing all kinds of regrettable shit. Stripping, stealing, starting fist fights. There was no drug he wouldn't do, no man he wouldn't fuck. It all came to a head about six months into his slide when he'd stopped by the house for some clothes and got into a huge fight with his older brother Lip. Ian had pulled a knife on him, cut him up real bad. 

Ian's never seen so much blood. 

Lip needed thirty stitches to close the gaping wound in his forearm.

After that, Ian had imploded. His family had checked him into Cook County, on a ninety day voluntary hold. Ian's manic bubble had burst, and he'd spent two weeks in a rickety state bed, waiting out his depression while his body acclimated to his new drug regimen. 

That was years ago now, and Ian hasn't had a slip that bad since then. He has his bad days, but he's got a good support system and a plan in place for when things go haywire. He is actually really proud of how far he's come. Monica never even tried. 

After Ian got his shit sorted, he went back to school, got his GED and went on to college. JFK Community College, but college nonetheless. He got his bachelor's degree in education, and landed himself a job teaching English at Ulysses S. Grant High School. The same school he dropped out of seven years ago. 

The irony was not lost on Ian. 

But he's good at his job, and he enjoys it. It was more than he ever expected when he first got sick. He had thought he'd spend the rest of his life on a bipolar roller coaster, until he killed himself one way or another. 

Ian smiles to himself as he makes his way into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He wants another beer, but he knows his limit. So he takes a long gulp of his water and saunters into his living room. 

He lives alone, and most of the time he likes it that way. After growing up in the madhouse that was the Gallagher home, Ian relishes his quiet time. But he always feels a little bit lonely when he comes back to his apartment after spending the evening with his family. 

He'd been down at Fiona's for dinner. It was Valentine's day next Saturday, but everyone was doing their own thing that night, so his siblings had decided to get together the week before. Nothing big, just an excuse to drink together and eat good food. Debbie had decorated with paper hearts and red and white streamers. It was cute. 

Ian doesn't have any plans for Valentine's day, besides grading papers. He's been dating, but nothing beyond casual dates and meaningless sex. He hasn't had a real boyfriend in over a year. He could say it's because he's so busy with teaching, but the truth is that dating exhausts him. He hasn't met anyone worth the effort in a long time. He's got hook up apps and nights at the club to satiate his desire for physical contact. He's open to the idea of a boyfriend, if he meets someone that sparks that interest in him, he's just not actively looking. 

He drops down on his couch, grabbing his remote and clicking the TV on. He cues up Netflix and grabs a stack of pop quizzes he needs to grade for Monday. He's only halfway through marking the first one when a loud knock on his front door draws his attention. 

Ian glances at the clock above his TV. It's almost eight pm. Who the hell is dropping by this late? 

"Just a sec." He calls out, placing his water on the coffee table and lurching toward the door. 

Whoever it is better have a good god damn reason for disturbing him. He wants to get these quizzes done before he goes to bed. 

He swings the door open and comes face to face with the hottest guy he's seen in ages. He's shorter than Ian by a couple inches, but makes up for it in the solid build of his body. Ian can't see much, since he's wearing way too many clothes for Ian to make an informed assessment. Ian cast his eyes down the stranger's body, taking in his tight black button-up shirt, pausing on his exposed forearms and ridiculously sexy knuckle tats before sliding down to his equally tight black slacks. God, he looks good. The man clears his throat and Ian's eyes snap back up. The man is giving him a bit of a glare, his bright blue eyes questioning.  


Ian feels like a moron, ogling a stranger at his door like some kind of creepy pervert. 

That face, though. Jesus. Pale skin and pitch black hair, pink lips and those eyes. So fucking blue. 

"Ian Gallagher?" the man asks, and Ian feels his face flush hot. Seems he's at a distinct disadvantage here. 

"Yes. And you are?" 

"Mickey, from Moments by Mandy." the man said, pulling a bouquet of wild Irish roses from behind his back. He held the roses aloft and pulled an index card out of his jacket pocket. He glanced up at Ian with a bored look on his face, like this is the last place on earth he wants to be. He cleared his throat loudly before speaking again. "Gentlemen may prefer blondes, but it takes a real man to handle a redhead. I think I could handle you just fine. Wanna find out? Love, your secret admirer." 

Ian squinted, glancing between the delivery man and the roses. Secret admirer? What the fuck? "Huh?" 

"Don't make me read that cheesy shit again, dude." Mickey sighed, pushing the roses into Ian's hand. "Expect more of these. Your admirer has a whole week of this planned. Is this a good time to find you at home?" Mickey asked, trying to maintain his professional attitude. Not only was he supposed to be off work over an hour ago, but Mandy had inadvertently sent him to the house of the hottest guy in the history of the world. 

Fuck. 

He needs to get out of here before he makes a fool of himself. 

"What? The whole week? What does that mean?" Ian asked, cocking his head to the side. "Who sent this?" he waved the roses in Mickey's face. 

"Don't ask me." Mickey shrugged, glancing down at his shoes. Looking at this guy hurt. Like physically hurt. He was that sexy. "My sister is the boss, I just do the deliveries." 

"But flowers? Really?" Ian looked at the bouquet in his hands before glancing up at the delivery guy again. "Do I look like the kinda guy that likes to get flowers?" 

Mickey chuckled, shrugging. "Is there a type of guy that likes to get flowers?" 

"I don't know." Ian admitted. 

"Alright, well, I'm gonna go. Enjoy your flowers." Mickey laughed, stealing one last lingering glance at the perplexed redhead. 

"Oh." Ian said, still clearly confused. "Um, thanks." 

"Yeah." Mickey nodded, starting to walk backwards down the hallway. He clearly wasn't getting a tip from the hot ginger. Although he was getting some pretty epic material for his spank bank, so it wasn't a total loss. "Have a good night." he finally turned around, waving over his shoulder as he made his way down the hall. 

Ian watched the guy go, feeling the strangest sensation building in his gut. It was excitement, for sure. Now was it over his secret admirer or the messenger?

He honestly had no idea. 

 

***

 

Mickey made his way back to the van, desperately trying to shake off the last of his nervous energy. He never does that, getting all hot and bothered over customers. He does deliveries in Boystown all the time, and he's seen his fair share of hot dick. The queers love to send gifts. But he's never come across someone quite as sexy as Ian Gallagher in apartment 3E. 

Technically, Mickey doesn't know for sure that Ian is gay. Being a fag is not a prerequisite for living in Boystown. But Mickey likes to think his gaydar is pretty on-point, and the disgustingly hot redhead pinged hard. 

Mickey shook his head, hopping in the van and sparking a cigarette. He pushes the enticing stranger to the back of his mind, picking up his clipboard and glancing at the next address on his list. The faster he gets these deliveries done, the faster he can get home and start pounding beers. 

It's Friday, and Mickey's been working like a dog all day. Mandy is a god damn slave driver and Mickey has half a mind to toss the rest of these flowers and fucking teddy bears in the river and just call it a night.  


He doesn't do that, of course. He makes the rest of his deliveries. He drops off some lilies to an old queen in a sequins robe, a BDSM teddy bear to a bespectacled accountant, (that one made him chuckle) and a bundle of 'It's a boy' balloons to a pair of bulldyke lesbians. 

Once his last delivery is done he makes his way home as quick as he can without getting pulled over. He parks the van and climbs the steps to his family home. The house is a lot nicer than it was when he was growing up. After Terry died, Mickey wasn't sure how they were going to keep the house afloat. They may have made a living committing crime, but it kept the lights on, and it was all any of them knew. 

So when Terry unexpectedly died of a god damn stroke, Mickey had thought they were going to lose everything. Mickey had only been twenty one, Mandy two years younger and Iggy two years older. They were dumb kids who didn't know the first thing about working a real job or paying a bill. 

Mickey had never even cashed a check. 

They had been sinking, and fast. 

Then, one day six months after the old man kicked it, Mandy got a call from a lawyer. At first they'd thought she was in some sort of trouble, but in actuality Mandy's mother had died. 

Mandy didn't know her mother, none of the Milkovich kids did. Mickey's own mother died when he was a year old, right before Mandy's mom came into the picture. No one knows where Iggy's mom is.

But it turned out that Mandy's mom had hit it big once she abandoned her family. She married some rich old fuck, inherited all his dough when he kicked the bucket. But the lady never even got a chance to enjoy it, dying of ovarian cancer a year later. 

Karma's a bitch, apparently.

But Mandy's absentee mother wasn't all bad. She'd left Mandy a hundred grand in her will. 

And Moments by Mandy was born. 

Mickey's still not sure what possessed his sister to open up a fucking gift shop of all things, but she gave him and Iggy both jobs, so he's not going to complain. 

He still thinks a liquor store would have been a better investment. 

Mandy had taken some courses in business management, and Mickey had a head for numbers. The first few years were hard, but they seem to have gotten the hang of it now. They actually turned a profit the past two years, shocking all three of them. 

The store is situated in Homon Square in an older building. Mandy has is decked out in all manner of frilly, girly bullshit. Balloons and fucking flowers. Teddy bears and cards, Candy and baked goods, even wine and champagne. There is row upon row of jewelry and pottery and framed plaques with inspirational sayings on them. Mickey kinda hates the store, but they bring in good money, and he spends most of his time in the van anyway. 

He throws his keys on the coffee table and kicks his shoes off, getting mud all over the baseboard. He shrugs, walking past the mess he made and heading straight for the fridge. He grabs a beer and pops the top, throwing it over his shoulder in the direction of the trash as he wanders back into the living room. 

He hasn't even had a chance to turn the TV on when Mandy comes barreling into the house like a blonde mini-tornado.

"Mick!" she yells, shucking her coat off and dropping down on the couch next to her brother. Her face is flushed from the bitter February wind, but she's smiling. Mickey is always taken aback by how happy Mandy is these days. She deserved it most out of all the Milkovich kids. Terry abused her in unspeakable ways, Mickey is amazed Mandy can even function as a person. If Mickey had known what was going on back then, he'd have shot the sick fuck. 

Mickey and his brothers took their fair share of abuse too, in the form of brutal beatings. Although Mickey seemed to get it the worst. He spent a lot of time on the receiving end of his father's fists over one slight or another. The abuse culminated two months before Terry died, when he found Mickey's stash of gay porn and beat him within an inch of his life. His old man kicked his ass for what felt like hours, pistol whipped him too. Mickey had spent six weeks in the hospital recovering. He'd ended up with a fractured skull, two broken rips, a dislocated shoulder and a ruptured spleen. 

Mickey can't imagine what Terry would have done if he'd actually caught him with another dude. But he doesn't have to worry about that shit anymore, since the twisted bastard is worm food now. Good riddance.

When his father died, Mickey finally nutted up and told his siblings he was a fag. He'd been scared shitless. It was the first time he'd ever said it out loud. 

It ended up being a non-issue. Mandy and Iggy didn't give a single shit about who Mickey took to bed, and he couldn't be more grateful. Mickey's been out for a while now, but he's yet to have a serious boyfriend. It all still feels really surreal and bizarre. He gets his rocks off down at the fruity clubs in Boystown when the need arises, just like when he was still closeted. It's whatever. 

Mickey's life is better than he'd ever hoped for, and he's in no rush to change anything. He's still getting used to just living without fear of imminent death or incarceration. 

"Mickey!" his sister bellows, tossing a throw pillow at his head. The pillow bounced off his forehead and tumbled to the floor, spilling beer on the carpet in the process.

"Fuck, what?" Mickey barked. "Watch it, bitch." 

"I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes. You were just zoning out like a moron. Are you stoned already?" 

"Fuck off, I'm not high. Just tired from hauling ass all over Chicago for you, asshole." 

Mandy huffed, giving her brother the finger before hopping off the couch and wandering into the kitchen. She grabbed herself a beer, popping the top before grabbing a frozen pizza out of the freezer. "Those deliveries pay your salary, dick." she called from the other room. "So how did they go? Any problems?" 

Mickey groaned, grabbing his beer and following his sister into the kitchen. He leaned up against the wall, watching her flit around the kitchen. "It was just like every other day, Mands." 

"Yeah? I know I don't have to tell you how important these deliveries are for us. Holidays like Valentine's day are a huge fucking deal for shops like ours. And each year we are open, we are getting more and more business on those days. So I need you to stay professional and all that happy horse shit." 

Mickey rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but his sister wasn't done ranting yet. "You are the face of the company when you drive that truck, Mickey. So please, for all our sakes, keep your damn game face on. I know you hate people, but it's important." 

"Yeah, okay." Mickey groused, walking back into the living room and dropping down on the couch. Mandy was right behind him, of course. "I get it, you know. And I'm disgustingly polite to your customers, even when I wanna fucking deck 'em." 

"Oh please." Mandy countered. "What could any one person do in the two minutes you have to interact with them to piss you off that much?" 

Mickey could make a list, if she was serious, but he knew she was just giving him shit, so he kept his mouth shut. It was easier than arguing. 

Mandy walked back into the kitchen and returned with the pizza. She dropped it onto the coffee table and Mickey reached for a piece immediately, burning his fingers. 

"Ow, fuck." he yelped, pulling his hand back fast. 

"Moron." his sister laughed. "Oh! I almost forgot. You know that one customer, with the seven days of gifts?" 

Mickey nodded, averting his eyes. Yeah, he remembered. Ian Gallagher and his secret admirer. How could he forget? Mickey didn't even know that was a real thing. Seems like something a middle schooler would do. "Um, yeah. Why?" 

"The customer had a special request for tomorrow. You're going to have to bring Iggy." 

"What? Why? What did this asshole request? Why does it need two people?" 

Mandy just laughed. "You're not going to believe it. This guy is so over the top." 

"Guy, huh? So Gallagher's a queer?" Mickey asked, trying for nonchalance. He's not sure if he hit the mark, however, with the way his sister was glaring at him. 

"Don't you dare!" she said, tone hard. "The Gallagher guy is a customer. Do NOT hit on him." 

"He's not the customer, his secret admirer is the customer." Mickey argued. 

"Mick. This customer is shelling out top dollar for us to woo this guy for him. What would he think of our business if our delivery guy was hitting on the guy he wants for himself?" 

"Mandy, come the fuck on. I'm not gonna hit on the asshole. I was just asking, jesus." 

"Good." Mandy said, finally grabbing a slice of pizza. "Don't. We are there to do a job, which is get our client in good with the guy. If our customer lands this guy, he'll leave a killer Yelp review, and it could really help our business. Keep that in mind, and keep your dick in your pants." 

Mickey rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his pizza. Whatever, he wasn't even planning on hitting on Gallagher. It was just interesting that he was gay. Mandy lost her shit for nothing. 

It's not a big deal. 

It's not. 

Mickey chugs the rest of his beer, kicking his feet onto the coffee table while his sister grabs the remote and starts flipping through the channels. 

They sat in companionable silence, watching some procedural cop drama on the flat screen. Mandy would comment here and there about one thing or another the show got wrong. Mickey would nod, hum in agreement, but he wasn't really listening. 

His mind was stuck on the same shit it'd been stuck on all night. His ginger customer. His gay ginger customer. 

Regardless of the assurances he gave his sister, Mickey found himself more excited for work than he had been in a long time....

 

***

 

Saturday, February 8th

Ian never really has a day off. He's always doing something for school, even on weekends. If he's not creating lesson plans, he's grading papers. If he's not grading papers, he's doing research. If he's not doing research, he's reading. He needs to be well versed and knowledgeable. 

So that's why he finds himself spread out on his sofa, radio playing softly in the background while he read 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' for what had to be the tenth time in his life. 

It's a little after five, and the snow is coming down hard outside. Ian was toying with the idea of going out later in the evening, maybe finding a warm body to waste a few hours with. But that idea is looking less and less appealing as the snow accumulates outside his window. 

He is about to get up and shovel his walkway before it becomes impassable, when his thoughts are interrupted by a strident knock on his front door. 

Oh! It must be Mickey. The delivery guy from that gift shop. Ian excitedly jumps up from the couch. "Coming." he calls out, making his way to the door. 

Ian has spent an embarrassing portion of the day thinking about the delivery guy. That's not normal, Ian knows that. But there is just something about Mickey. Ian's not even sure what it is, it's not like he's even had an actual conversation with the guy. He'd only seen him for two minutes the previous evening, so there's really no reason to be so caught up. 

But he is. He is caught up. Last night, he laid in his bed, just reliving those few moments with Mickey on loop in his brain. His mind had no problem conjuring up the other man's image behind Ian's closed eyes.  


Those rude tattoos, standing out in stark contrast against his perfect pale skin. The way he'd rubbed at his lower lip with his thumb, drawing Ian's attention like a moth to a flame. The way his eyes seemed to glow when he laughed. The sound of his voice, that odd mix of reserved quiet and bold brashness. God, Ian was utterly smitten, and that was honestly pretty ridiculous, seeing as he doesn't even know the guy. Not even a little bit. 

Ian should probably be swooning over whoever is sending the gifts in the first place, but the flowers really missed the mark last night. Ian appreciates the gesture, but flowers are just not his thing. He can't think of anyone he knows that would even consider sending them to him. He's just not that into it. 

He finally makes it to the door, checking his hair in the hall mirror before swinging the door open with a bright smile on his face. 

The smiles slips away when he sees who's on the other side. Or rather what's on the other side. 

"What the fuck?" 

 

***

 

"This is fucking dumb." Iggy groused, scratching around his neck. "And it fucking itches. I hate this shit. Mandy's fucked if she thinks I'm doing this ever again." 

"Quit your fucking whining, you big baby. It's not that big a deal. Not to mention we're getting paid big bucks for this bullshit. So suck it the fuck up." 

"Easy for you to say, asshole. You're not the one sweating your balls off in this get-up. Fucking ridiculous. Only a fairy would think this was romantic. No straight guy would ever do this shit." 

"How do you know Gallagher's secret admirer isn't a chick? Who's to say the dude's even gay." Mickey said, even though Mandy insinuated last night that Ian was gay, it's rude to just assume, right? 

"Cuz I was at the shop when the guy came in to order all this shit. Total homo, no offense, bro." 

Mickey waved him off, hitting the turn signal and banging a hard left. "Whatever. So, who is this guy? The customer?" he asked. He knows it's none of his business, but since Iggy brought it up, he finds he's pretty damn curious. 

"Just your basic rich fuck. Rolled up in a Cadillac, dressed up like an investment banker or some shit. Paid Mandy with a black Amex, she was pissing herself."

"Yeah? Dude's a rich bitch?" Mickey had an odd feeling at that revelation. Even if he was interested in Ian, (which he's NOT) there's no way he could compete with some silver spoon motherfucker making it rain all over the place. 

"Oh yeah. He's loaded, for sure. He tipped Mandy fifty bucks just for taking the order. I've never seen anyone do that before."

Mickey nodded, running his hand through his hair in irritation. Why is he getting so worked up over this bullshit? It's none of his damn business. 

"Fucking weird, man." Mickey replied, unsure of what else to say. 

"You know what's weird to me?" Iggy asked, itching his neck again. "This guy rolled up into the store and just started listing all the shit he wanted. Treated Mandy like a fucking servant, talking down to her. And he kept saying all this shit about the dude he was sending all the gifts to. Ian, I think his name is. He kept saying how Ian was so lucky he was courting him. He said that shit. Courting. Who says that? Anyway, he made it sound like he was doing the guy this huge favor by even showing interest in him. He told Mandy that he was sure his gifts would win the guy over, because, and I quote, 'people like him are easy to please with a few trinkets.' I mean, what the fuck, right?" 

"Yeah." Mickey agreed, finally pulling up in front of Ian's building. He had no idea who Ian's secret admirer was, but from what Iggy had just said, he sounded like a total dickbag. 

Which is still none of Mickey's business. Obviously. 

"C'mon." Mickey said, slapping Iggy on the knee. "Put your head on and let's fucking go. I wanna get this over with as soon as possible." 

Iggy groaned, but did as Mickey said. 

"Whatever." Iggy's muffled voice floated out from inside the mask and Mickey chuckled. 

This was gonna be hilarious. 

 

***

 

Ian didn't know what the fuck he was looking at. He shook his head, as if that would erase the scene in front of him, and something much more normal would appear in it's place. 

No dice. 

He was still staring into the face of a six foot tall monkey. 

There was a monkey in his hallway. A monkey with a bowler hat and a polka dot bow tie. 

"What the fuck?" he repeated.

Just then, music started playing. Some old-timey shit with trumpets and drums. The monkey started dancing, and Ian was certain he'd lost his damn mind. Just as he was about to reach out and touch the damn thing to make sure it was real, Mickey stepped out from behind the dancing primate. He had his phone in his hand, which is where the music was coming from. 

Ian's eyes flitted from the delivery man to the dancing monkey and back. After the poor schmuck in the costume finished his jig, Mickey pocketed his phone and pulled out yet another index card. He glanced up and Ian with a smile on his face. 

"Roses are red, violets are blue. Be my valentine, baby. Cuz I'm ape over you. Love, your secret admirer." 

Ian burst out laughing. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." 

"Nah, dude." Mickey smiled again. "Serious as a heart attack. Whoever this dude is, he's got the hots for you pretty bad." 

Before Ian could reply, the monkey reached out, dropping a giant bag into Ian's hands and turning to make his way down the hall. "I'll be in the van." the man called over his shoulder, pulling the massive head off his shoulders and tucking it under his arm. 

"Who was that?" Ian asked Mickey. 

"My brother." Mickey replied. "He hates wearing that damn thing." 

"I believe it. Looked uncomfortable." 

"It is." 

"I can't believe anyone would pay for that shit." Ian remarked, then winced. "Sorry, it was great, you guys were great. I didn't mean that you were bad, just that this was a bad idea. You know what, never mind...." Ian sighed. God, he can never just shut up. 

Mickey grinned at Ian, nodding his thanks. Ian was pretty damn cute when he was flustered. He shook his head, deciding to let Ian off the hook. "Nah, we're just the messengers, man. This is all the brain child of your secret Valentine." 

Ian grimaced. "I kinda don't like it." he admitted, unsure why he was telling Mickey anything. He knows it's not normal to talk to your delivery guy like this, but the whole scenario was so bizarre, he couldn't seem to stop himself. 

"You don't?" Mickey asked, surprised. "Isn't this like, a gay guy's wet dream?" 

"What? Getting useless gifts from a random person who's too chickenshit to come to you like a man? Nah." Ian laughed. 

Mickey snickered along with him. "I get what you mean, if a guy pulled this shit with me, I'd probably kick his teeth in." 

Ian smiled at him, his mind reeling. Did Mickey just admit he's gay? Is that what he just said? Did he mean it like that? Is something happening here between them? Does Ian want that? 

Yeah, he does. Want that. 

Ian broke the eye contact, instead focusing on the bag in his hand. He held the bag up, turning it one way then the other, inspecting the candy inside. "What is this shit?" 

Mickey shrugged, taking a step closer to get a better look. "Um, that's every Valentine's candy we could get. It was a strange request, but I have to say, out of all the stuff your super fan demanded, I think the candy's my favorite."

Ian opened the bag and looked inside. Mickey was right. There were giant heart shaped lollipops, conversation hearts, chocolates, pink and white Sweet Tarts, M&Ms and red and pink candy corn. He saw heart gummies and a bunch of purple jelly beans. And his personal favorite, Red Hot Hearts. 

"Holy shit." Ian said, grinning up at Mickey. 

"I know, right? You may have a creepy stalker, but at least he's got good taste in candy." 

Ian laughed. "You've got a point." he jammed his hand into the bag and pulled out a fistful of pink and red confections. "Here." he said, holding his hand out. 

"Huh?" Mickey asked, perplexed. 

"Take it, you've earned it." Ian smiled, waving his hand in front of Mickey's face. Mickey held his hand out, eyebrows raised, and Ian dropped the candy into his open palm. 

"Um, thanks." 

"You're welcome." Ian was full on grinning now, watching Mickey blush as he tucked the candy into his pocket. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" 

"Yeah." Mickey nodded, turning back down the hall. "See ya." 

"I can't wait to see what you bring me next." Ian called after him. 

Even if this secret admirer shit was weird, Ian was looking forward to the delivery. 

 

***

 

"What the fuck took you so long?" Iggy barked as soon as Mickey slipped into the drivers seat of the van. He turned over the engine and peeled away from the curb. Ian's delivery is the last of the day, so Mickey is eager to get home. This Valentine's Day shit is running him ragged. He had seven deliveries today, all of them over the top in a way that left Mickey exhausted. This singing/dancing telegram shit is for the birds, but it brings in too much money to refuse. Mickey would rather die than wear one of their cheesy costumes, so that task falls to Iggy, every time. 

That's probably why Iggy's being so pissy right now.

"I was up there for like two seconds, get off my dick." Mickey replied tersely. 

"You were flirting with that dude, weren't you?" his brother questioned. "This is what Mandy was bitching about. You hittin' on the big spender's guy." 

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Mickey spat, stuffing a heart shaped chocolate in his mouth.

"Yeah, you do." Iggy insisted. "Mandy said to keep it professional, and you clearly are not doing that. Is that some of the guys candy?" Iggy balked, reaching toward Mickey's lap. Mickey's hand shot out, slapping his brother's wrist hard. 

"Don't touch my shit." 

"It's NOT your shit. It belong to the customer. How did you get it?" Iggy pressed. 

Mickey was getting pissed. His idiot brother never knew when to let shit drop. "Fuck off." 

"Mick, Mandy specifically told you to step off. This customer is important to her, and she really wants a good review." 

"Since when do you give a shit about Yelp reviews?" Mickey replied irritably. "Besides, Ian doesn't even like the gifts. He thinks it's creepy as fuck. So maybe he'll leave a shitty review unless I soften the blow with some stellar customer service. You ever think of that?" Mickey knew he was full of shit, but he felt the need to defend himself. He hasn't done anything wrong. 

"Fuck that, you've got a boner for this guy." Iggy laughed, shaking his head. "Mick, I think this is a bad idea. This guy clearly already has something going on with another dude. No one would send him all this shit unless they were fucking him." 

"Iggy, that is not how any of this works. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." 

"I know I'd never send flowers to a bitch unless she was sucking my dick." Iggy retorted. 

"And that is why you are always gonna be single." Mickey chuckled, pulling up in front of his house. 

Iggy crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his brother. "Mick, don't dick me around." 

Mickey sighed, shaking his head. He shut off the van and turned to face his brother. "Okay, yeah, we talked, for like two seconds. But that's it. Normal customer conversation. It's not a big deal. You know I keep work and my private life separate. I'm not going to change shit up now. Don't worry about the account, and don't worry about Gallagher. Just a few more days of these deliveries, and Valentine's Day, and that ginger fucker will be nothing but a memory, okay? I'm not going to piss Mandy off, or fuck up her business. Promise, alright?" 

Iggy nodded, apparently mollified. "Sorry, man. It's just that this store shit is really working out for us. We're doing it, Mick. Making a living off legit shit. I don't wanna fuck that up." 

Mickey sighed, giving his brother a small smile. "I know, man. Me too. Don't worry so much. It's not even that serious. Trust me, okay?" 

"Sure Mick." 

"Alright, get the fuck outta the van. I need a beer." Mickey said, effectively ending the conversation. He can't believe this is the second conversation he's having about this shit. He's only seen Ian for a total of ten minutes in his life, and the guy's already more trouble than he's worth.

The brothers made their way into the house, laughing and shoving each other. Mickey listened to Iggy's retelling of a story he'd heard a hundred times before, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts stuck on an apartment on the other side of town, and the ginger troublemaker contained within. 

 

***

 

Sunday, February 9th

 

Mickey groaned, throwing a hand over his face to block out the sun peaking through his busted blinds. He drank a lot last night. He'd stayed up way too late watching crap TV and guzzling beers, all in a vain attempt to purge Gallagher from his brain. It was a total waste of time, there was no shaking the invasive ginger from his thoughts. He'd finally called it a night at two am, stumbling into his bed. He'd lain there in the dark, willing his mind to quiet, all to no avail. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that damn guy. His smile, his eyes, his lips. Mickey had spent way too long imagining what Ian would look like out of his dress shirt and slacks. He'd finally fallen into a fitful sleep after surrendering to the pull and rubbing one out. He'd felt pretty shitty about jerking off to Ian, but it got the job done. He slept better than he has in ages. 

Which is why he's so pissed about being woken up now. 

He can hear his sister moving around in the kitchen. He sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He plucks a cigarette out of his pack, slipping it between his lips and lighting it. He runs a hand through his hair and down his face before heaving himself off his bed and making his way to the kitchen. 

Mandy is standing in front of the coffee maker in some retarded leotard-looking get up. It looks like she's going scuba diving. Her hair is done up in some elaborate braid, twisted up on top of her head. She's humming happily to herself as she waits for her coffee to percolate. 

Mickey doesn't think he'll ever get over just how happy his sister is these days. It suits her. 

"Coffee?" he asks, dropping heavily into one of the kitchen chairs. 

Mandy jumps, spinning around quickly, hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Jesus fuck, Mick. You scared the shit outta me. What the fuck are you doing up so early?" 

"Dunno, couldn't sleep. Why are you dressed like that? You taken up high diving?" Mickey asked, nodding his thanks as Mandy dropped a mug of coffee down in front of him. 

"High diving? Where do you come up with this shit? I'm going to yoga." 

"Hipster trash." Mickey scoffed. "Who are you, and what did you do with my sister?" 

"Ha fucking ha, asshole." Mandy spat, before softening her tone. "Listen, I need a favor." 

"Nope." Mickey shook his head. "No. No way. It's my day off and I'm not doing a damn thing for you or that store. Iggy's working today, ask him." 

"I can't ask him, specifically because he's working today. He's gotta stay at the shop." Mandy sat down across from Mickey, giving him her best puppy eyes. "I was gonna do the Gallagher delivery myself, but then Stacie called with free passes to the new gym on Dedham Street. I really wanna go check it out. Can't you just run the delivery down there real quick for me?" 

That's the last thing Mickey wanted to do. These deliveries were fucking him up. He can't get the guy out of his head, and every time he lays eyes on him it makes it worse. Mickey doesn't do this shit, crushing on guys. His dating history is as minimal as it is meaningless. 

So to say this shit it out of the ordinary is a massive understatement. He needs to nip this stupid attraction in the bud before he ends up making a total fool of himself. 

"I thought you didn't want me delivering to Gallagher anymore. Iggy gave me this whole speech last night about professionalism and not letting you down. It was totally out of left field, and such an un-Iggy thing to say." Mickey chuckled at the memory. 

"Eh, that may have been my fault. I went off on him about it the other night, but it doesn't matter. You promised you'd be on your best behavior. So it's a non-issue, right? I trust you, Mick. Just drop the shit off and leave. Don't engage the customer. Just do your job and we won't have anything to worry about." 

Mickey opened his mouth to protest, but Mandy hit him with that pleading look again, and he was powerless against it. "Fine, whatever. I'll drop off your stupid delivery. And I won't say a single word to the guy." 

"Good." Mandy said, relieved. She took a sip of her own coffee, glancing up at her brother. "The customer really seems to like this Ian guy, and he promised that if these gifts got him an in, he'd leave crazy good reviews on Yelp, recommend us to all his rich friends. Do you have any idea how much rich gays spend on gift baskets and balloons each year? It would really help out our bottom line, Mick." 

"Yeah, but what about what Ian wants? He told me last night that this secret admirer shit is freaking him out. He feels like he's being stalked." Mickey had no idea why he was even telling Mandy any of this shit. He just didn't like the idea of wooing Ian for this guy. What's wrong with just walking up to someone and striking up a conversation? Doesn't anyone do that shit anymore?

"Well, I for one think it's romantic. Did you say something to the customer about his admirer? Please tell me you didn't. It's none of your business, Mickey. It's your job to deliver the gifts. If Mr. Gallagher has a problem with his admirer, he's going to have to handle it himself. That's not part of our job." 

Mickey sighed, nodding. There would be no reasoning with Mandy. She saw what she wanted to: a client with deep pockets. What Ian wanted or how he felt had no bearing on Mandy or her business.  


On the other hand, it really WASN'T any of Mickey's business. He's getting all twisted up in this shit, and it has absolutely zero to do with him. He needs to remember that, and just do his damn job. 

"Okay Mands. What time do you want me to head over there?" 

"The client says Ian is always home on Sunday after six pm. So head over between six and seven-thirty. No later." 

"So this guy has Ian's schedule memorized?" Mickey balked. "Tell me again that he's not an obsessed stalker." 

Mandy scoffed, standing from the table and grabbing her yoga mat. "Just do the job, and keep it professional, Mick. I don't want any more complaints about your attitude." she glared at him, turning on her heel and heading for the door. 

"Bitch, that happened once!" Mickey called after her. "And that guy deserved that black eye." he added on to the empty kitchen. 

Well fuck. Looks like he's going back to Gallagher's house today. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

 

***

 

This is Ian's happy place. To some it would be boring, but Ian wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now. 

He's seated on his couch, in his sweats. Bobbing his head along with the low music flowing out of his wireless speakers as he takes a sip of his bourbon. He sighs in contentment, laying the glass back down on his coffee table and picking up his book again. He's about halfway through 'The Picture of Dorian Gray', marking passages and making notes for his class on Monday.

There is nothing more soothing to Ian than getting caught up in a good book. He can easily lose himself in the pages, living out the story laid in front of him, becoming part of the narrative. It's the reason he wanted to become an English teacher. So he could spend his days immersed in good literature, and help the young and impressionable find their own happy place. 

He was so enthralled in the work that he missed the first knock on the door. It registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but made no lasting impression as he continued to devour his novel. 

Only when the second, louder knock came did Ian come to his senses. He glanced at the clock above his stove. 6:30.

It has to be Mickey. He feels like he's been waiting all day for Mickey to arrive. 

It's not normal, Ian knows, to be waiting for a delivery guy to stop by his house. If anything, Ian should be psyched that he has a secret admirer with deep pockets that is intent on spoiling him. But he can't shake the feeling that this guy, whoever he is, is a creep. Like, why not just talk to Ian? What's with all the cloak and dagger bullshit? What is he hiding?

Ian shook off his nervous thoughts as he answered the door. His smile slipped from his lips as he came face to face with his visitor. 

It was Tad, one of his neighbors. The guy that owned the penthouse at the very top of the building. Ian doesn't own his apartment, he rents. He can't imagine a time when he'll be able to afford to buy a place. He's not sure what his neighbor does for work, but he clearly gets paid handsomely for it, if his massive apartment and brand new BMW are anything to go by. 

"Tad, hey." Ian said, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. "What can I do for you?" 

Tad gave him a small smile. "Hey Ian." 

Tad was a decent looking guy. Tall and thin, with unremarkable features. Brown hair, brown eyes. He dressed impeccably, tailored suits when he was working and high end casual wear around the building. Today he was sporting tight True Religion jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater, the name blazoned along the left sleeve. Ian's not really a brand whore like that. People that flaunt their wealth like that kinda peeve Ian for whatever reason. Tad is the worst example of that, always stopping Ian in the hallway to show him his newest high end fashion acquisition. Ian's not sure why Tad would think he'd care, but Ian listens every time, not wanting to be rude to his neighbor. 

"Well, you left this in the laundry room." Tad said, holding up one of Ian's work shirts. "I could tell it was yours due to your monogrammed cuffs. I have to say, though, this is shotty work." Tad said, holding up the sleeve for Ian's inspection. "I can hook you up with my tailor. He does amazing work, even if he doesn't speak english." Tad held the shirt out and Ian took it with a nod of thanks. His sister got him this shirt, and he couldn't help but feel like Tad was shitting all over it. 

"Thanks." Ian said. He tucked the shirt under his arm and waited for Tad to say goodbye and leave. He didn't. 

"So, how are things?" Tad asked, surprising Ian. Ian doesn't think they've ever had a single conversation since Ian moved into the building. 

"Um, good." Ian replied, confused. "You?" 

"Well, thank you. You still teaching?" Tad asked, moving closer. 

"Yep. Still teaching." Ian replied, trying to remember if he'd ever even told Tad he was a teacher. 

"Huh," Tad replied, considering. "And that fulfills you?" 

Ian cocked an eyebrow. What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Um, yep." 

"I commend you. I can't stand whiny teenagers. Especially from that neighborhood. I imagine you deal with all sorts of awful things over there. Drugs and crime. Gangs." Tad actually shivered as he spoke, and Ian was gearing up to tell him off when the elevator dinged and they both looked over. 

Ian smiled as Mickey came into sight, lugging a giant red bag behind him like fucking Santa Claus. 

"What's that?" Tad asked, curious. 

"My delivery." Ian replied, leaning up against the hallway wall. Mickey looked damn adorable dragging the bag down the hall, glare stuck firmly on his face. He was staring Ian down like he wanted to gut him, but Ian was finding it all too funny to care. 

"Oh. Well, I'll let you go. You'll have to tell me the story behind this sometime." Tad said, moving away from Ian's door. 

"Yeah, sure." Ian replied, his attention fully on the delivery man now. "Thanks for my shirt, Tad." 

"My pleasure, Ian." his neighbor said, finally making his way toward the elevator. He passed Mickey on his way, giving him a wary glance and a wide berth. 

"Can I help you?" Mickey bit out, eyebrows high on his head. 

"No. I don't think you can." Tad replied coolly, regarding Mickey with hard eyes before leaving him to hop on the elevator. 

Mickey finally made it to Ian's door, dumping the big red bag at his feet so he could fish out the index card he'd stashed there earlier. 

Ian was paying the bag no mind, his eyes entirely fixed on Mickey. He was soaking wet, that was the first thing Ian noticed. His pants were wet up to his knees, his sneakers leaving puddles of icy water on the floor. His coat was covered in ice, big melty chunks, leaving wet spots all over it. His hat was covered in it's own shell of ice, his face wet and pink, water dripping off his ears and chin. He looks like he was two seconds away from hypothermia. 

"Did you walk here?" Ian asked, unable to ignore the way Mickey was shivering. 

"No. There were no parking spots in front of your building due to the storm, so I had to park the van two blocks away and fucking hoof it down here, lugging this stupid fucking bag the whole way." Mickey spat, before remembering himself. "Sorry. I don't mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Gallagher." he amended before turning away from Ian's imploring eyes and fixing his own eyes on the card in his hand. 

He cleared his throat, glancing up at Ian for a split second before he started speaking. 

"Oh won't you let me be your loving teddy bear? Put your chain around my neck, and lead me anywhere. Valentine's day is on it's way, and I'm showing you I care. Won't you let me be your teddy bear? Love, your secret admirer." 

Ian laughed, eyes wide as Mickey recited the lines in the most bored monotone he could muster. 

"Elvis? Seriously?" 

"Dude, I don't write the shit. I just deliver the lines. You want these, or what?" Mickey asked, feeling oddly embarrassed. He shoved the giant bag into Ian's hands and moved to head down the hallway.

Ian goes to look in the bag, but is distracted by the fact that Mickey is sprinting toward the elevator. 

"Hey, wait." Ian said, dropping the bag and jogging after the delivery man. He grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. 

Mickey spun around, ripping his hand from Ian's grasp. "Don't touch me." 

Ian put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. It's just that you're all wet." 

"No kidding. It's a fucking blizzard out there." Mickey said slowly. "I still gotta get home in this shit." 

"No more deliveries?" Ian asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice. 

"Nope. It's my day off. My sister sprung this shit on me last minute." Mickey isn't sure why he's telling Ian any of this, or why he's even talking to him at all. He promised Mandy he'd be in and out. He should be on his way back home right now. But he feels stuck in this hallway. Trapped under that green gaze. 

Not good. Not good at all. 

"Um, did you want to maybe come in for a minute? You could dry off a bit. You're gonna get sick if you stay in those wet clothes." Ian knew it was a paper thin excuse, but he just wasn't ready for Mickey to leave quite yet. 

Mickey regarded the man in front of him. It was a terrible idea to go into Ian's apartment. His sister's words of warning were at the forefront of his mind as he thought it over. 

But he was soaking wet, and fucking freezing. His whole body was covered in goosebumps and his feet felt like ice cubes. The van had no heat, and it was going to take almost an hour to get home in the mess outside. 

Fuck it, Mickey's never been one to make good decisions. 

"Sure, I guess." he replied, shrugging. Ian's face morphed into a wide smile, and Mickey couldn't help but smile back. 

He'll probably catch a bunch of shit for this from his sister, but he didn't care in the moment. He grabbed up the big red bag and let Ian's smile lure him over the threshold. 

 

***

 

Mickey fidgeted by the door, still clutching his overstuffed bag. Ian had wandered into another room, leaving Mickey standing unsure in the hallway. 

"Have a seat anywhere." Ian called out. "You want a drink? I have whiskey." 

"Um, sure. Thanks." Mickey replied, moving toward the living room. He eyed the couch, then looked down at his pants. He was a mess, and he didn't feel right sitting on Ian's couch with his nasty clothes. He was covered in dirty slush and salt from the road. 

Ian returned to the room with two glasses and a pair of black sweatpants in his hand. He placed the drinks down on the coffee table and offered the pants to Mickey. "The bathroom's right behind you. Just put these on and I'll throw your shit in the dryer for you. You should be good to go in a half hour or so." 

"You don't have to do this, man." Mickey insisted, fully aware of all the lines he was crossing right now. "I shouldn't even have come in." 

Ian smiled softly at him. "It's no trouble. Don't worry so much. The bathroom is right there." he pointed over Mickey's shoulder, and Mickey nodded, admitting defeat. He took the sweatpants from Ian's outstretched hand and turned toward the bathroom, leaving the bag on the floor by the couch. 

Once Mickey was out of sight, Ian breathed a sigh of relief. He honestly didn't think that was going to work. All he did know what that he was desperate for more time with the delivery driver and he was gonna do whatever he could to make it happen. 

Ian's not even sure what it is about the other man that has him so enthralled, he just knows that when Mickey shows up, Ian doesn't want him to leave. He can't remember the last time he's felt that way about a guy, and he's not eager to let it go. 

He's still not even sure Mickey is into dudes. But would he accept Ian's invitation inside if he weren't? 

Shit. What is Ian doing? Getting ahead of himself, obviously. He decides to put it out of his mind for the moment, wandering over to the overstuffed bag Mickey lugged into the apartment. He opens the bag and balks.

His eyes bug out of his head, he can't wrap his head around what he's looking at. What the actual fuck? 

"Did you look in this bag?" Ian calls out hoping Mickey can hear him. This is insane, and whoever this secret admirer is, he's a god damn lunatic. 

 

***

 

Mickey glances at himself in the full length mirror on the back of Ian's bathroom door. He's swimming in Ian's sweatpants, and for some reason that really turns him on. He chastises himself silently for getting so caught up. 

This is a terrible idea. He knew it was a terrible idea before he agreed, but now the gravity of the situation is hitting him hard. 

He's standing in a client's bathroom, wearing said client's sweatpants. Jesus, Mandy is going to murder him. 

"Did you look in the bag?" Ian's voice pulls him out of his head. He glances at himself in the mirror, giving his reflection a silent pep talk. Thank Ian for the pants, and leave as soon as his own clothes are dry. No dawdling, no conversation, no nothing. Get out. As soon as fucking possible.

Yeah, he can do that. 

He wanders back into the living room, where he finds Ian in the middle of unpacking the giant bag Mickey had brought over. It looks like ToysRUs threw up all over the place. Mickey hadn't looked in the bag before he brought it over, but now that he's seeing it, he is consumed by secondhand embarrassment. Whoever this secret admirer is, he's a total tool. 

There are stuffed animals everywhere. Teddy bears lined up in front of the couch. Stuffed dogs and kitties sitting on the arm chair. Doves with little hearts in their mouths, little pink mice and purple turtles. Mickey even sees a unicorn. An alligator with hearts trailing along it's back. An elephant and a tiger. Love birds and furry beta fish. Mickey's never seen so many cheap plushies outside the carnival. 

It's all a bit ridiculous. 

Mickey is so amused by the animal explosion in Ian's living room, he forgoes his grand escape plan and decides to stick around for a bit. He hands Ian is wet pants and sneakers, wandering into the living room to wait for Ian to return from the laundry room. 

Moments later, Ian enters his apartment to find Mickey giggling over the mess in his living room. Ian has to smile too, in spite of the insanity of it all. 

"Did you?" Ian asks, pulling his attention back to him. "Look in the bag?" 

"No." Mickey shook his head, making his way over to the couch. He shoved a bunch of toys onto the floor so he could sit, picking up his drink and downing half of it. "It's none of my business what's in the bag. It's my job to deliver it, nothing more." 

"But, like, who would think this is a good idea?" Ian pressed. He picked up a monkey with wings, little bow and arrow stitched to his chest. "Is this supposed to be a cupid monkey? What the fuck?" 

"You're asking the wrong guy." Mickey chuckled. "I work at the store, sure. But this festive shit it all foreign to me. This is not how I'd tell a guy I was into him." the warning bells are once again sounding in his head, but the drink Ian poured him is swimming in his blood, and he's content to ignore common sense and reason for a little bit longer.

"Oh yeah?" Ian replies, crossing the room and sitting near Mickey on the couch. This is it. This is the information Ian's been desperate for. "How would you go about it?" 

Mickey glanced up at him, that familiar tingle picking up in his gut. Why is it that this guy makes him do all this stupid shit? Like talking....

"Well, I'm south side, so I all this romantic bullshit is not part of my game plan ever." 

"You're south side?" Ian balked. He's sure he'd remember someone like Mickey if they'd grown up together. 

Mickey nodded, taking another sip of his drink. Ian reached for the whiskey on his coffee table, refilling Mickey glass without being asked. "Yep. Born and raised. Why?" 

"Cuz I am too." Ian replied, confused. He took a much smaller sip of his own drink, pondering this new information. "How the hell did you grow up in my neighborhood? I've never seen you?" 

"Well," Mickey started, thinking back. Ian's right, Mickey never saw him growing up, but Mickey wasn't around all that much. "I went to Russian school until my first stint in juvie, then I just dropped out." Mickey replied quietly, still unsure how much he wanted to share. "Spent my teen years in juvie or reform school. Besides, I doubt we were in the same grade. You're a Gallagher, though, right? My sister knows your brother, I think. He's got a queer nickname, like Face or something." 

Ian laughed at that. Tipping his head back and howling at the ceiling. "You mean Lip?" 

Mickey chuckled with him, nodding. "Yeah, I guess." 

"Shit. What's your last name?" Ian asked, turning to face Mickey more fully. The fact that they grew up in the same neighborhood was comforting. Like even though they'd never met, they sort of already knew each other. They shared the same experiences, the same hardships. That's how it was when you grew up south side. 

Mickey hesitated. It didn't always go so well when he revealed his last name to people. The idea of Ian being utterly disgusted when he knew the truth was a very real possibility. "Milkovich." he said, his voice softer than he intended. 

"Milkovich." Ian repeated slowly. His mind was suddenly flooded with stories he'd heard around the neighborhood. Stories of armed robberies and brutal beatings. Arsons and hate crimes. Ian vividly remembers the father and the older boys beating a gay man within an inch of his life, leaving him brain damaged.

It suddenly makes sense why he never met Mickey back in the day. He avoided anyone with that last name like the plague. Even the girl. She stabbed someone with a homemade shiv on the volleyball court one time. Granted, it was barely a flesh wound, but that shit was still scary. 

"Yep." Mickey replied, quietly. Should he go? He should probably go. Ian looks like he's gonna puke now. He's used to having that effect on people, but it still stings seeing that realization spread across Ian's delicate features. 

"How did you end up in the flower business?" Ian surprised him with the question. He figured Ian would ask him to leave, not delve deeper into his personal bullshit. 

"Well, it's not all that much of a story, really." Mickey shrugged, polishing off his drink. He watched with wide eyes as Ian refilled his glass. He shouldn't drink any more, but the liquor is calling to him. He grabs it up and tosses it back like a shot, grimacing as the booze burns down his throat. 

That's it. No more whiskey. "Mandy, my sister, we had different moms. Not long after our old man kicked the bucket, her mom died, left her a shit ton of money. She opened the shop with the cash. Me and my older brother work with her." 

"Wow. Family business. I don't know if I could work with my siblings." Ian shivered dramatically, pulling a reluctant chuckle out of Mickey. "But you guys seem to be doing okay." 

"Yeah." Mickey nodded. "It pays the bills." 

Ian glanced up at him, smiling softly. "But you work so much. I mean, you've delivered to me every day since this crazy shit started." he said lowly. "How do you ever find time to live? All work and no play must get lonely. I mean, do you have a boyfriend? What does he think of all the long hours?" Ian knows he's treading on dangerous ground, but Mickey's been sitting here with him for quite a while now. That has to mean something, right?

But just as the thought filters through Ian's mind, Mickey stands from the couch like it's on fire. "Uh, I should really get going." he stammers, avoiding Ian's eyes. 

Ian deflated, standing also. "Sure. Let me go get your pants." with that he placed his glass down on the coffee table and left the room without another word. 

Once Ian is out of sight, and Mickey can think clearly again, he's hit with the reality of how badly he's fucked up. He KNEW coming in here was a bad idea. But he did it anyway. Then he made it infinitely worse by engaging Ian in actual conversation. Now he's somehow gave Ian the impression that it's peachy keen to ask him personal fucking questions. Ian's intent is clear, and even though Mickey would love to go down that road with him, he promised his sister he would keep it professional. 

Looks like he fucked that up too. 

Ian wanders in with Mickey pants and shoes. Mickey takes them with a nod of thanks and disappears into the bathroom without another word. 

Ian stands in his living room, screaming at himself in his head. He fucked up. He couldn't just keep it casual, could he? He had to ask. He had to push. 

Mickey is out of the bathroom and on his way to the door before Ian can properly finish castigating himself. He sees Mickey out, and they part ways without so much as a goodbye. 

After he's gone, Ian sits alone in his living room in the sea of stuffed animals. He wonders who the secret admirer is, but finds he doesn't really care. Anyone that would send Ian a truckload of plushies doesn't know the first thing about him. 

What he cares about is the delivery man. And he's desperately hoping he'll see him tomorrow and be able to fix this shit.

 

***

 

Monday, February 10

Mickey is laying in bed, staring at his stained ceiling. It's early. Earlier than he has to be up, but he can't seem to sleep. 

He'd woken up about five minutes ago, shocked into wakefulness by a very vivid dream. He glances down at the prominent erection straining out of his boxer briefs, the lingering evidence of his unconscious thoughts. 

He curses quietly under his breath. Shit. He really doesn't want to jerk off. Not with the remnants of that dream dancing behind his eyelids. 

Ian. 

Fucking Ian, invading his most private moments. Mickey doesn't even know the guy, and he's already renting space in his head. He promised himself after his drunken wank session that he wouldn't jerk off thinking about Ian again. Looks like his dick didn't get the memo.

Unacceptable. That's what that is. 

He groans irritably, gripping his painfully hard dick and pinching his eyes shut. He's not going to be able to get a damn thing done until he takes care of his problem. He has to work soon, but he can't think of anything else until he's scratched this itch. 

He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillows as he strokes his dick slowly. He huffs out a low breath at the sensation. He's especially sensitive in the morning, and it doesn't take much to get him where he needs to go. 

He lets his mind wander, pushing down that little bubble of guilt as images of Ian fill his mind. Whatever, no one has to know. He imagines Ian, naked and thrusting away on top of him. His muscles bunching as his hips move between Mickey's spread thighs. He has no idea what Ian's dick looks like, but in his fantasy is thick and long and fills him up so good. 

Mickey licks his lips as he pulls on his cock, his other hand floating down to fondle his balls. He sighs, picking up his pace as images of Ian flood his mind. Fuck, it feels incredible. He can't remember the last time jerking off felt this good. He can feel his orgasm building already. His free hand slides down a little more, applying the slightest bit of pressure to his hole. Fuck. He imagines Ian's hands on his body, fingers dancing along his thigh as he fucks him hard. It's too much, it's not enough. 

Mickey comes hard, his back arching off the mattress as he paints his stomach with his release. He sighs again, slowly coming down from his high. He's wiping off the mess he'd made with a dirty t shirt when a knock on his bedroom door pulls him fully back to reality. 

"Mick, you up?" his sister's voice calls from the other side of the door. "I wanna head down to the store a little early, we got some orders late yesterday, and I really wanna get a jump on them." 

"I'm up." Mickey called back. Jesus, who knew owning a faggy flower shop would be so much work. "Gimme a sec." 

"Get your ass in gear. We got a busy few days ahead of us." 

Mickey groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He can't wait for this Valentine's shit to be over. The ridiculous romanticism of it all is exhausting. 

 

***

 

"Okay guys." Ian says, calling the attention of his students. "How has Oscar Wilde explored the corruption of the human soul in the Picture of Dorian Gray?" 

Ian is met with thirty blank stares for his inquiry. "Come on guys. You are reading the book, right?" he receives a smattering of unconvincing nods in reply. "Okay, so tell me." he waits, but not a single hand is raised. He sighs, laying his hands flat on his desk as he looks out upon the sea of bored, confused faces. "We know that this novel is somewhat autobiographical, correct?" he gets a few nods and continues. "Okay, so Oscar Wilde was well known for his own homosexuality. How do you think that ties into what happens to Dorian?" 

"You're just asking this cuz you're gay." James Martin pipes up from the back, earning himself quite a laugh from the students. Ian rolls his eyes, but maintains his composure. He can't get bent out of shape whenever a student makes a rude comment. He's been lucky so far, his open homosexuality hasn't been that much of an issue yet. He knows how it goes in this neighborhood, and he's prepared. He figured reading Wilde would bring it to the forefront. 

"I am not, James." Ian replied coolly. "It is well documented that Wilde was gay or at least bisexual, he was even imprisoned for it at one point." he gave James a meaningful look when the boy opened his mouth to reply. "If you'd been doing your research on the author like you were supposed to be doing, you'd know that." 

Before he could continue his lecture, the bell rang, and all the students started gathering their things. "I want you guys to read the next two chapters by Wednesday, and please research the topics we discussed today. You will have to pick one of them for your essay." no one was listening, of course. This was the last class of the day, and all the students minds were off the clock and onto more pleasant topics. 

Ian wishes he could do that. Just stop working as soon as the school day was over. But that is not the life of a teacher. He has a shit ton of stuff to do today before he can even think of relaxing. He has to head down to party city to get some decorations for Valentine's day. He plans on putting his novels on hold that day, and letting the students read a variety of love poems from across history. He's not sure how well it will be received, but he can't help but try to expose these kids to the beauty of poetry. He knows he'll touch at least one student, and that's enough for him. 

Then, once that's done, he has to create the quiz for the Wilde novel, and prepare the discussion for the subsequent chapters. Then, after his work is done, he has to hit the gym, buy some groceries, and do laundry. He feels like he barely has a moment to breathe most days. 

He can't help but wish he had someone waiting for him at home. Not just someone to help with the housework. He wants someone to come home to, someone to share his life with. He's not getting any younger, and being single and free had lost it's appeal a long time ago. 

But with teaching and family obligations, it's hard to find time to actively pursue a relationship. He sighs, packing up his things. He doesn't even have time to fantasize about a boyfriend, he's got too much work to do. 

 

***

 

"Thank you, have a nice holiday." Mickey says, waving to his latest customer and making his way down the walkway and back to the van. He'd just delivered a giant bouquet of lilies to the old lady for her birthday. She was so excited to get a delivery, and super nice to Mickey, offering him tea and homemade scones. He had to decline, of course, he was still on the clock. He also declined the ten dollars she tried to tip him. No way a sweet little old lady living in this shit hole house in the south side could afford to give anyone ten dollars. She needed the money more than Mickey, but just the fact that she offered put a smile on Mickey's face. 

There were still some nice people in this neighborhood. 

The smile stayed firmly on Mickey's face as he scratched Mrs. Mallory's name off his list and read the next name. Of course, he already knew it was Ian. It's the end of Mickey's work day, and Mickey's saved Ian for last again. He glances in the rear view mirror, making sure Ian's package is still secured in the back, and pulls away from the curb. He's eager to get this delivery done and go home. 

He might be a little bit eager to see Ian too, but he's not quite ready to admit that. 

It doesn't take him long to get there, it's after seven and most people around here are home by now. Boystown is not like the south side, most of these schmucks have 9-5 jobs. 

Must be nice. 

He parks the van in front of Ian's building and makes his way around to the back of the truck. He pulls the package out of the back and heads inside to get this delivery over with. He's hungry and tired. He was so busy today he didn't even get a lunch break, he's running on a single extra large coffee and two slim jims. He feels like his stomach is eating itself. He hops in the elevator, awkwardly shuffling the box in his hands.

This shit is heavy, and he swears he can hear liquid sloshing around in there. 

He walks up to Ian's door and kicks the wood with a booted foot, since his hands are clearly full. 

Moments later the door swings open, and there he is. The face Mickey's been waiting to see all day. 

Fuck, he's got it bad. He can't seem to shake this stupid crush no matter what he does. These deliveries aren't helping any. Every time he shows up, Ian is wearing less and less clothes. Is that a coincidence? Or is Mickey's shit luck finally starting to change? 

No. Nope. Don't go there. Don't do it. 

"Hey Mickey." Ian smiles, stepping aside so Mickey can come in. "I was wondering when you were gonna show up." Ian closes the door and follows Mickey into the kitchen, where he drops the heavy box on the kitchen table and takes a step back. Ian is not wearing a shirt, and the sweatpants he has on are so tight, Mickey worries he might be cutting off circulation to his feet. "I just got back from the gym, was gonna jump in the shower." Ian said, rubbing a hand along his bare chest. "But I didn't wanna miss you. So I waited." 

Mickey cleared his throat, glancing away. He rubbed at his top lip with his fingers, nodding. "Yeah, sorry. I had a last minute delivery on the south side, had to haul ass over there before I could do this." 

"No problem." Ian replied easily, smiling. "I don't mind waiting for you." he was staring Mickey down like he knew all his secrets, and Mickey couldn't help but feel open and exposed in the moment. 

Ian knew he was laying it on kinda thick, but he had to at least try to figure out where Mickey's head was at. After the last delivery, Ian had been worried that Mickey might not come back at all. And now that he's here again, Ian's hope is renewed, and his resolve is much stronger. He can't shake this feeling that there is something between them. A subtle flirty vibe, and Ian wants to explore that. He really, really wants to explore that. 

"Well, I guess I should get this over with." Mickey sighs, suddenly remembering he's here to do a job. He pulls the dreaded index card and clears his throat. He chances a glance at Ian, and wishes he hadn't. Ian's got this smug, amused look on his face, green eyes dancing with mischief. 

Mickey rolls his own eyes, but starts reading anyway. "Roses are red, and so is this wine. Do me the honor, be my Valentine? Love, your secret admirer." 

Mickey could feel his face flushing red. God, whoever this guy was, he's a moron. Is this how he really expects to bag a guy like Ian? What the fuck? 

The silence stretches on between them for an agonizingly long time, until Ian can't take it anymore and burst out laughing. It starts as a tiny giggle, then morphs into a hiccup, and then the red head is off and running, howling with laughter, his whole body shaking with it. 

Mickey can't help himself. Watching Ian lose it has a domino effect on him and soon the two of them are whooping it up in the small kitchen. It's just all so absurd. 

When they finally calm down, Mickey is surprised to find they've migrated into each other's space. Their faces are mere inches apart, and Ian's hand is clamped down on his shoulder. Mickey blinks up at him, surprised to find that Ian's eyes are even greener up close. 

"I have no idea who this guy is, but he's clueless." Ian whispers into the small space between them. "I hate wine." 

At the mention of Ian's admirer, Mickey smartens up. He dislodges Ian's hand from his shoulder and takes a step back. Ian's face falls a little, and he also steps back. He opens the box Mickey delivered, revealing three bottles of wine. He has no idea if it's good wine. He knows nothing about it. "What am I supposed to do with these?" he asks, holding up one of the bottles for Mickey to inspect. "2016 Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon? What does that even mean?" 

"You got me, man. I'm a whiskey drinker." Mickey chuckled. 

"Me too! I mean, the name gives it away right? Gallagher? What self respecting Irishman drinks wine? Honestly, though, what do I do with three bottles of this crap?" 

Mickey thought on it for a minute, shrugging. He should be leaving, but talking to Ian feels nice, even with the weird tension building between them. "What are you gonna do with all the plushies the dude gave you?" 

"Donate them. To charity or whatever." Ian replied. He can't think of anything else to do with them, they are already bagged up, just waiting for Ian to have a free moment to drop them off somewhere. 

"Then do that." Mickey nodded, smiling. 

"Donate wine to charity?" Ian replied, confused. 

"Nah." Mickey shook his head. "Hold onto 'em until you have a birthday or a housewarming or whatever fancy shit you high end queers do. Then you give one of the bottles as a gift."

"Ah!" Ian laughed, shaking his head at Mickey. "You're a genius, you know." 

Mickey chuckled, feeling that hot blush creeping along his neck again. "Nah, man. Gift giving is my business." 

"Give yourself a little credit." Ian said, feeling that familiar tension settling between them again. "So when you say 'you high end queers', that doesn't include you?" Ian was gonna push. He'd never get anywhere with the elusive delivery man if he didn't push. That much was clear. 

Mickey laughed again, taking a much needed step back from Ian, who was still advancing on him. "Do I look like a high end queer to you?" he asked, figuring why the fuck not? All he was doing was talking to the guy. It didn't have to mean anything. "I'm just a regular south side guy that happens to be into other dudes. I don't do art galleries or wine tastings. I'm not into brunch or foreign films. I stick out like a sore thumb around here." Mickey waved his hand around, indicating Ian's apartment and Boystown as a whole. "Your secret admirer is a high end queer." Mickey decided, locking eyes with Ian. "You? I'm still not sure where you fall on the spectrum." 

Ian smiled at the delivery driver, taking a step closer. "Did you want to find out? Where I fall on the spectrum?" 

Mickey was entranced, locked in an intense stare off with his client. He knew he should leave. He promised his sister he wouldn't get in the way of Ian's admirer. But there's something there, Mickey can feel it. 

Ian can feel it too, obviously, if the way he's undressing Mickey with his eyes is anything to go by. Mickey watches, immobile, as Ian descends upon him. Ian's hand reaches out, and he's about to curl it around Mickey's hip when Mickey's phone goes off. 

"Shit." Mickey says, taking a step back. He pulls his phone out and answers it, maintaining tense eye contact with Ian. "Yeah." 

"Mick?" Mandy's voice is like a bucket of ice water on Mickey's arousal. Shit. 

"Yeah." he says, watching the heat drain from Ian's eyes. Mickey sighs. 

"Are you done with the Gallagher delivery? I need you to stop by the shop real quick and take the delivery inside. The guy was late, and left it all on the loading dock out back. I don't want it all to get lifted before the morning." 

"Mandy, come on. I'm off the clock for the night." 

"Mick, that shit can't get stolen. We can't afford that." Mandy says irritably, before softening her tone. "Please Mick." 

"Fuck, fine." Mickey growls, ending the call. 

"Everything okay?" Ian hazards as Mickey makes his way toward the door. 

"Yeah, just have to head back to the shop and put some shit inside before it gets stolen by a crackhead or whatever." 

"Jesus, you really do work all the time." Ian says, opening the door so Mickey can step out into the hall. 

"Sister's lazy." Mickey says by way of explanation. 

"You need help?" Ian asks before he can think better of it. 

Mickey smiles at him, shaking his head. It's kinda sweet that Gallagher would offer to help. "Nah, it's just a couple boxes." 

"Okay, so I'll see you tomorrow then?" Ian can't keep the hopeful tone out of his voice. But the smile Mickey gives him in return makes him feel like he's not wrong to hope. 

"Yeah, man." Mickey says lowly, looking up at Ian through his lashes. God, he's acting like such a girl. "I'll be here." 

"Can't wait." Ian replies, still smiling.

Ian stood in the doorway watching Mickey walk down the hallway. His eyes were trained on his back, taking in that confident swagger and his stacked ass. 

Jesus, Ian has a real problem. 

Not that he's too eager to find a solution.


	2. The Gift that Keeps on Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Valentine's day approaches, Ian's admirer's gifts become more outlandish and inappropriate. Ian and Mickey are left to navigate the strange situation they find themselves in. Ian tries to distance himself from his admirer while getting closer to his delivery man. While Mickey tries to balance his responsibility to his family with his growing attraction to his client. 
> 
> Something's gotta give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's day. these valentine fics were kind of a birthday gift to myself. i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did.

Tuesday, February 11

Mickey is smiling as the elevator takes him to Ian's floor. He can't help it. He knows Mandy would be pissed if she was aware of the flirty vibe that emanated between Mickey and Ian whenever they were sharing the same space. 

But Mickey had a lot of time to think last night after he left Ian's apartment. After he'd come hard to thoughts of Ian's pink lips and big hands, (a nightly occurrence since the ginger waltzed into his life) Mickey had laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, really thinking about what was going on with his client. 

Ian was nice, and funny. Attractive didn't even begin to explain how hot Ian was. He was next level gorgeous, each feature more enticing than the last. And he was into Mickey, that much was clear. For whatever reason, a smart, successful, sexy as fuck guy was into Mickey. A trashy south side reformed thug who delivered flowers for his sister. 

That kinda shit didn't happen to guys like Mickey. So why should he take a back seat to some nameless asshole who doesn't even have the balls to approach Ian himself? The secret admirer, whoever he is, is a gutless homo. Too scared to talk to his crush, so he sends a neutral third party in his place to do the dirty work. 

Well, Mickey's not neutral anymore. You snooze, you fucking lose. And Mickey's not going to make the same mistake Ian's secret admirer is making. He's going to go for it, and let the chips fall where they may. 

Fortune favors the bold, and all that shit.

But....Mickey still has a job to do. He still has to deliver these gifts. He still has to put on the show of professionalism. 

So any move he makes on Ian will have to wait until after the secret admirer's contract is up. It's the only way he can square this situation with his promise to his sister and his commitment to the business. 

He moves today's gift box to his left hand so he can knock. He doesn't even have time to pull his hand back before the door swings open. Ian is standing there, looking utterly relaxed and insanely sexy in his wife-beater and grey sweatpants. 

"Hey Mick. Was waiting for you." Ian smirks, moving aside so Mickey can wander inside like he has for the past few days. "Have a seat." Ian says, moving toward the kitchen. Mickey does as he's told. He's hit with that same pang of anxiety, worried about what his sister would say.

Wanting to make a move on Ian and doing it on company time are two totally different things. But sitting on the couch isn't really breaking any rules. (although he never does it with any other clients.) He pushes his misgivings to the back of his mind as he sets Ian's most recent gift on the coffee table so he can accept the beer Ian hands him. 

Drinking with a customer. Sure, totally normal. 

"So, you wanna see what the creepy fucker has in store for me today?" Ian asks gleefully as he grabs up the package and rips into the paper. 

"This doesn't freak you out?" Mickey asks, stilling Ian's hands on the box. "I mean, the guy is kinda laying it on thick, right?" 

"Yeah, he is." Ian agrees, pulling the top of the box. "I mean, I've had my fair share of over the top suitors. But this is a bit much, even for me." 

"Suitors." Mickey laughs. "What, are you going to cotillion?" 

Ian giggles along with him, shaking his head. "No, but I did have quite a few big spenders when I was headlining talent at the Fairy Tale." 

"The Fairy Tale?" Mickey repeated, flabbergasted. "You danced at that cum bucket place? Ew." 

"You know it?" Ian asked, surprised for some reason. 

"Yeah." Mickey nodded, figuring what the hell. If he was gonna make his own play for Ian, the first step to that was some actual honesty. "After my old man died, and we got the money from Mandy's mom's will, I kinda went a little crazy for a while there. Spent more money in bars like that than I'd like to admit. Pretty much fucked my way through the whole bar scene before I got that shit outta my system." 

"Can't believe I never saw you there." Ian mused, hands still resting on the forgotten gift box. "I could never forget giving you a lap dance." 

Mickey grinned, blushing once more. What was it about this guy that turned him into a shy little bitch? "Yeah, I don't think I'd forget you either. I mean, you leave quite the impression." 

Ian smiled at him, all warm and affectionate before glancing down at the box in his lap. "You gotta cheesy poem to go with this one?" 

"As a matter of fact, I do." Mickey smirked, taking a sip of his beer before setting it on the table and reaching into his jeans pocket. He had to lean back on the couch to wedge his fingers around the card, and his t shirt inched up, exposing his stomach. By the time he freed the card from the constraints of his tight jeans, Ian was openly ogling his bare skins. 

"Eyes up here, Gallagher." Mickey teased, delighted when Ian flushed red. Good. He's not the only blushing asshole in the room. He glanced down at the card and rolled his eyes. "This guy, jesus." 

"Read it." Ian insisted. "It always so cheesy, I die laughing."

Mickey nodded before adopting the snootiest voice he could muster. "A sweet thing like you doesn't need help looking cute. But when I pick you up for our date, be wearing this suit. Love, your secret admirer." 

Mickey looked at the card and then up into Ian's confused eyes. "You have a date with this guy?" 

Ian ripped the top off the box, pulling out an expensive looking tailored suit. It was black, and came with a white dress shirt and grey tie. He checked the measurements and was a little alarmed to see that it was his exact size. 

"No. I don't know who the fuck this guy is. But he has my measurements, Mickey. Like, my exact size." Ian dropped the suit into the box and pushed it away. "How the fuck did he figure that out?" 

Mickey shook his head, creeped out on Ian's behalf. "I mean, I told you I got kinda stalker vibes from this guy." 

Ian nodded, feeling more anxious than he has in a long time. "I don't know how to feel about this." he said quietly. 

"Listen." Mickey said, scooting as close to Ian as he dared to. The space between them was minuscule, but Mickey clung to that mere inch as he turned to speak to Ian. "If you want me to stop bringing these deliveries around, I will. I don't want you to be freaked out." 

"But won't that be bad for your business? This guy is clearly shelling out big bucks, right?" 

Mickey sighed, shaking his head. "Ian, the business is the last thing on my mind right now. Whatever you want, okay? I'll deal with Mandy if she flips a nut. Just tell me, do you want me to call the rest of these off?" 

Ian looked into Mickey's eyes, noticing how earnest he was, how honest. Ian could tell in that moment that Mickey would do whatever he asked, no matter what it meant for his business. 

"No, don't cancel them." he decided. "I can handle the creepy admirer. I don't want you guys to take the loss. Besides, I kinda like you coming around here every night." 

"Yeah?" Mickey asked, unable to temper his smile. "You sure it's not all this swag you're scoring?" 

"You mean these ridiculous gifts I don't want or need?" Ian laughed, kicking the expensive suit off the table with a little flourish. 

Mickey laughed too, unable to comprehend how he ended up in this situation. 

He can't say he regrets it, though. 

"Hey, so you wanna stick around for a while?" Ian asked, hopeful. "I have a new Marvel movie cued up on Netflix." 

"Can't." Mickey replied regretfully. "My sister called me on my way up in the elevator. I got two more deliveries tonight before I can head home. I shoulda been outta here a while ago." he polished off his beer, placing the empty on the table and reluctantly standing from the couch. 

Ian followed him to the door, like he has for the past few days. They lingered in the open door, neither willing to let go just yet. 

"So, thanks, I guess. For the delivery." Ian said lowly. Mickey shrugged. 

"Still got a weird feeling about this guy." Mickey muttered, unsure if it was even his place to say. 

"Well, if nothing else, he's gotta make himself known by Valentine's day, right? Then I can shut him down for good and move on with my life." 

"Yeah, I guess." Mickey agreed, fidgeting with his shirt sleeves. 

"Move onto guys I actually have interest in." Ian continued, mustering up all the confidence he could as he reached out and dragged a single finger along Mickey's wrist. 

Mickey's responding intake of breath was the hottest thing Ian had heard in ages. Feeling emboldened, he took a step closer. Mickey tilted his head back and their eyes locked. There was a tense, sexually charged moment between them where neither of them were breathing. Ian's eyes remained locked on Mickey's as he dipped his head down, anticipations rolling in his gut. This was it, he was going to fucking kiss him. 

"Ian! Is that you?? Can you help me?" a disembodied voice floated over from the elevator and the two men separated quickly. 

Shit. That was close. Mickey couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed by the interruption. 

Lies. He's pretty fucking pissed. 

Ian glanced over to the elevator and shrugged, heading down the hall, Mickey right behind him, he was supposed to be leaving after all. 

Stuck in the elevator behind a giant box was Tad, Ian's neighbor. "Tad, what are you doing?" Ian asked, clearly confused. The penthouse was six stories up. Tad was a long way from home. 

Tad dropped the long box in front of the elevator door, effectively blocking it from closing, and keeping Mickey stuck on the third floor. "I just bought this new HD Smart TV. Pretty sweet, right? But I got it in the elevator and discovered I couldn't get it all the way to my place by myself. So I figured I'd stop on your floor and see if you were around to help." he gave Mickey a little glare before fixing Ian with a much softer, pleading look. "You don't mind, do you? I can tell you're strong." 

Mickey wanted to gag. This guy was not slick. It was obvious what he was doing. He was thunderstruck when Ian agreed to help. 

"Sure Tad." Ian said easily, before turning toward Mickey. "Um, you wanna squeeze in here too?" Ian motioned toward the tiny space left in the elevator, and Mickey shook his head. 

"I'll take the stairs." he muttered, not missing the smug smile on stupid fucking Tad's face. Whatever. Ian doesn't owe Mickey anything.

He's a god damn client. Stupid flirting and lingering glances aside, he's a customer.

Mickey needs to remember that shit. 

He turns away and almost runs down the hallway, eager to get away from Ian and Tad and all the fucked up emotions these situations elicit in him.

 

Wednesday, February 12

Mickey's had a shit day. He's tired and pissed off and ready to haul off and deck the next asshole that looks at him sideways. 

He'd gone home last night after the confusion incident at Ian's apartment, flustered and irritated. Mad at himself for getting so caught up in a client. Angry with himself for being jealous of a suited up twink with a stupid name and enormous television. He couldn't even jack off last night because every time he envisioned Ian's face, fucking Tad would pop up and destroy the fantasy. 

He'd tossed and turned for hours, finally saying 'fuck it' and crawling out of bed, pointedly ignoring his sister as he went about pouring his coffee. 

He'd left the house not long after that, stopping at the store to pick up his first batch of deliveries for the day. It was the home stretch of this Valentine's bullshit. He hasn't had a moment to breathe since he started the van. First down to Chicago State University, to deliver 30 fucking pairs of edible underwear to the Phi Beta sisterhood, courtesy of their frat brothers. He wondered if that shit actually got any of those brodudes laid, but forgot about it as soon as he was on to his next delivery. Candy, birthday balloon, a fucking potted Ficus. It was a never-ending stream of sentimental bullshit that was grating on Mickey's nerves. 

His thoughts kept being drawn back to Ian and Tad. Is that the kinda shit Ian's into? He's lives in that neighborhood, wears a suit and tie every day. Mickey realizes in that moment he doesn't even know what Ian does for work. Is he an investment banker? Is he a curator and some shmopey museum? 

Ian might have grown up south side, but he clearly washed that shit off and stepped into a shiny new life. It would make much more sense for him to be into his mousy neighbor than a thuggish delivery driver. 

Mickey shakes his head at his stupidity. 

He parks the car, feeling irritated and anxious. Two more deliveries and he can go home and drown these intrusive thoughts in booze. It's only Wednesday, but he doesn't have to work the next day until the afternoon, so fuck it. 

He pulls up to a single family home about a block from Ian's apartment building. He grabs the roses and the stuffed angel off the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door. 

He knocks and waits. 

The door flies open and a woman is standing there, looking sulfurous. "What?" she barks, taking a sip of whatever mixed drink she's drinking. She reeks of alcohol and her eyes can barely focus on Mickey. 

Wonderful.

Mickey stuffs the flowers and the toy into her hand so he can fish out his card. 

"You're my angel baby. Please forgive me. Love, Steve" he recites the card and waits. The woman doesn't say anything, so he starts to back away. 

Then she explodes. "Forgive him?" she barks, descending on Mickey. "After what he did? Are you serious?" she throws the flower at him, hitting him in the face. He pinches his eyes shut as the thorns scratch his lips and nose. He swears he can feel blood dripping down his cheek. The vase goes crashing to the ground, shattering around Mickey's feet. Before he can react, she's tossing her drink in his face. 

Mickey sputters, spitting straight vodka all over the place. His face is wet and his eyes are burning. Shit, that hurts. "Bitch, I don't know who he is, or what he did. I'm just the delivery guy." 

The woman pushes him hard, sending him careening into the chain-link fence. She's swiping at his face, screaming incoherently the whole time. 

"Lady!" Mickey yells, finally pushing her off. She stumbles drunkenly, landing in a snow pile by her front porch. 

She's crying now. Wailing at the top of her lungs. "Cheater. Fucking cheater." she whimpers as the indignant energy drains out of her, leaving her with only her pain and betrayal.

Mickey sighs, pinching the bridge of nose. He makes his way over to the woman carefully. "Hey, lemme help you up. Can I do that? Or are you gonna punch me again?" 

The woman doesn't say anything, just puts her hands out. Mickey takes them and pulls her to her feet. She pulls away the second she's upright again, turning her back on Mickey and storming back into her house, slamming the door hard. 

Well, he's clearly not getting a tip for that delivery. 

He shakes the snow off his sleeves and steps over the shattered glass. He's eager to leave this shit show behind and move onto more pleasant customers.

It's the end of his day, which means it's time to see Ian. 

It's ridiculous, really, how just the thought of the other man can erase all negativity from Mickey's brain. It's like the drunken floral assault never happened, and all he's left with is giddy eagerness to get to Ian's place. Even after the shitty conclusion of last night's encounter, even with his insecurities about Tad swimming in his head, Mickey can't seem to help himself. He's excited. 

He starts the van and drives off. His face still stings from the drunk woman's attack, but he's smiling. 

 

***

 

Ian is a dumbass. He knows that. He is an utter idiot, but he can't seem to stop himself. 

He's been standing in his bedroom for the past twenty minutes, going through all his loungwear, looking for the right sweatpants/wifebeater combination that will make him look sexy, but casual. Like he just happened to be wearing it when Mickey knocked on the door. 

This is uncharted territory for Ian. He can't remember the last time he worked this hard for a guy's attention. He's never had to in the past, guys just kinda fall into his lap, literally. But it's not the chase that has Ian all flustered, he knows that. There is something really special about Ian's delivery guy. Ian can tell. 

His head whips up when he hears that familiar knock on his door. Mickey knocks like he's serving a warrant. Ian doesn't know why he finds that so cute. 

He runs through his apartment, totally aware of how little chill he has in the moment. He can't be bothered to care when he knows Mickey is waiting for him on the other side of the door. 

He flings the door open, chest heaving in anticipation, only to come face to face with a giant wall of brown paper. 

"What the hell?" Ian says, taking a step back. 

"Can I come in or what?" Mickey barks from the other side of the massive package. Ian nods, even though Mickey can't see him, stepping aside. 

"Yeah, um, put that down anywhere, I guess." Ian says, watching with wide eyes as Mickey gingerly lays the package against the wall in the living room. 

"What is this?" Ian asks, moving to stand next to Mickey so they can both get a good look at the wrapped gift. 

"Hell if I know." Mickey shook his head. "It's heavy as fuck and awkward to carry, that much I can tell you." he glanced over at Ian and was surprised to find Ian gawking at him, a horrified look on his face. "What?" 

"Did you get into a bar fight before you came down here?" Ian asked, his eyes flitting all over Mickey's damaged face. He had cuts all over his cheeks, blood seeping from the wounds. One of his eyes was bloodshot and swollen, and he had a busted lip. "Jesus, Mickey." Ian moved without thinking, grabbing Mickey's wrist and dragging him toward the bathroom. 

"It's not that big a deal." Mickey protested weakly. He had to admit, Ian's concern was sweet. "I had a delivery go sideways." 

Ian laughed, pushing Mickey to sit on the closed toilet seat while he rummaged around under his sink for his first aid kit. "I had no idea that flower delivery was such a risky profession." 

"You'd be surprised." Mickey drawled, wincing as Ian went about cleaning his cuts with little alcohol wipes. "When women get apology bouquets from their cheating husbands, it's not always received so well. And since their dude's not there, the guy with the delivery usually takes the brunt of the anger." 

"That doesn't sound fair at all." Ian reasoned, wiping some dry blood from around Mickey's mouth. 

"Not much is." Mickey murmured, looking up to find Ian already staring at him. Ian's eyes were burning into his, and Mickey felt that now familiar blush burning along his neck and chest. "You, uh, wanna go see what you psycho super fan has for you tonight?" 

Ian sighed, stepping away. Seems like Mickey is intent on keeping that last vestige of professionalism, keeping that wall up between them. 

Ian doesn't know what he's gonna have to do to break down that wall, but he's already decided he's going to do it. He nods, leading Mickey out of the bathroom and back to the living room. 

They stand there, staring at the package for a moment before Mickey remembers himself and pulls the index card from his pocket. 

"Oh, sweet jesus." he murmurs, shaking his head. 

"What?" Ian asks, already giggling. "C'mon, man. Lay it on me." 

Mickey tempers his own laugh. "To me you are a work of art, and I want to give you my whole heart. If you would be so kind, would you be my valentine? Love, your secret admirer." 

Ian gaped at Mickey, then rolled his eyes. "I can't with this cheesy bullshit, man. Whoever this guy is, he doesn't know a god damn thing about me." 

"I mean, you haven't even opened the gift yet. Maybe the dude will wow you." Mickey snickered, unable to keep a straight face as he spoke. 

"Fuck you." Ian laughed, finally wandering over to the massive wrapped gift. He ripped the paper open and promptly jumped back, horrified. "What the fuck!" 

Mickey moved around Ian to get a look at the package and was shocked at what he saw. 

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." 

"How the hell did he even pull this off?" Ian whispered. "This is not romantic or sexy or nice. This is fucking abnormal." 

Mickey and Ian stood there, staring at Ian's portrait staring back at them. It was clearly an oil painting, in an expensive dark wood frame. 

Mickey took a step closer, examining the painting. "I don't even know what to say to this. Did this guy take a photo of you and bring it to a painter? Or did he paint this himself from memory? If so, he's been watching you more closely than I thought." 

Ian shook his head, taking a step back. It was like staring at himself in a fun house mirror, and he didn't like it at all. "I don't want this thing." he decided. "Please, Mick. Don't leave this here." 

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. "Dude's a fucking whackjob, man. But I've got you covered. You have a tarp? And a meat cleaver?" 

Ian stared at him, head cocked to the side. "What are you going to do? Get rid of the painting or dismember a body?" 

Mickey laughed. "I mean, I could do both, if you want me to. Gotta figure out who he is first. But how about we start with this freaky shit right here?" he pointed to the painting. "And get me a trash bag too." 

Ian glanced at the weird painting once more before heading into the kitchen to retrieve the items Mickey required. He couldn't help but feel perversely giddy that Mickey would offer to kill this guy for him. He knew he was joking. Well, he hoped he was joking. But the sentiment was still sweet, in that old south side way that Ian still appreciated. 

"You know...." Ian said, handing the items to Mickey and moving to sit on the couch. "My students are reading 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' right now, and I can't help but feel like this is some kind of nod to that." the thought creeped Ian out to no end. The idea that his secret admirer could know that much about his life. This had to be a coincidence, right? 

"Picture of whosiwhat?" Mickey asked, laying the tarp out on the floor and placing the painting over it. 

"Dorian Gray, have you never read it?" 

"Do I look like a literary scholar to you?" Mickey asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Wait, you're a teacher?" 

Ian laughed, nodding. "The main characters sells his soul so won't ever grow old. Instead, his portrait ages." 

"So what, you think this shit is cursed?" Mickey asks, waving the meat cleaver at the painting. 

"No, it's stupid." Ian shook his head, unsure of what he was even saying. 

"You think you'll drop dead if I cut it up?" Mickey teased, running the cleaver menacingly along the painting. 

"Oh fuck off." Ian laughed, which morphed into a gasp as Mickey started hacking the painting to bits right in front of him. 

It was kind of beautiful, in a strange way, watching Mickey utterly decimate the cause of Ian's discomfort. 

Once the offending artwork was in pieces, Mickey tossed it all into the trash bag and heaved it over his shoulder. "Guess I should take this shit and go." 

"Tell me this, why did you have to destroy it?" Ian asked, moving to stand right in front of Mickey. "Why didn't you just take it with you and throw it away?" 

"Thing gave me the creeps." Mickey admitted softly, rubbing his lower lip with his free hand. "Besides, after that Dorian Gray shit you just sprung on me, I think we're better safe than sorry, right? I'm not gonna let some fucked up stalker curse you with shitty art." Mickey's subsequent laugh was cut off when Ian swooped down and pressed his lips to Mickey's smiling mouth. 

If Mickey was surprised, he didn't let it show. He dropped the bag of busted up art on the carpet and fisted his hands in the back of Ian's tank top. Ian's hands came up, cupping the back of Mickey's neck as he tilted his head for a better angle. 

Mickey lost himself in the kiss, the feeling of Ian's warm hands on his neck, the taste of his tongue. Those alarm bells he's been hearing any time he gets too close to his customer are non-existent in the moment. The only thing Mickey can focus on is Ian, and they way he's kissing him stupid.

Ian groans against Mickey's lips. He can' believe how incredible a simple kiss feels. Mickey's fingers tentatively slip under Ian's tank top and Ian shivers. He threads his fingers through Mickey's hair, pulling the dark strands as he licks into his mouth hungrily. 

Mickey hisses as Ian pulls his hair. God that's so good. He's getting hard fast. 

The feeling of Mickey's dick hardening is ironically what finally spurs him to pull away. 

Jesus, that escalated quickly. 

Mickey takes a step back, breathing heavy. Ian's eyes flutter back open and he looks at Mickey with so much hurt and confusion in his eyes, Mickey feels like utter shit. 

"I, uh, should probably get going." Mickey mutters quietly, running his hand down his mouth. He can't believe he got so caught up so quick. 

It's not that he wants to stop kissing Ian, quite the opposite, actually. But he knows if he doesn't shut this shit down now, he's going to do something he regrets. He just promised himself he'd wait until after the contract is up, and here he his, making out with Ian like a couple of middle schoolers.

"Oh, okay." Ian says, scratching the back of his head. He's not sure what happened, but the sudden shift in the atmosphere has him confused. 

"I just gotta go, man. I still have the work van, I got shit to do tonight." Mickey said, sensing Ian's discomfort. "We're cool, yeah?" 

Ian gave Mickey a small smile, nodding. "Yeah, we're cool." 

"Cool." Mickey smiled, waving like a moron and grabbing the trash bag off the floor as he made his way to the door. Ian trailed behind him, watching the muscles move in Mickey's back and ass as he sauntered out of the apartment. 

Ian sighs as Mickey leaves the apartment, wishing he'd stayed just a little bit longer. 

Ian has no interest in his secret admirer whatsoever, but he's already counting the minutes until his next delivery.

 

***

 

Mickey sighs as he pushes his way into his bedroom, dropping his beer on his nightstand and falling gracelessly onto his unmade bed. He could still hear Mandy and Iggy going at it in the living room, fighting over what they wanted to watch on TV that night, but Mickey didn't have the patience for their bullshit tonight. He needed a solitary quite moment to process what had just happened. 

Had he made a mistake, letting it go that far with Ian? Did he owe some kind of loyalty to his sister and the business, even if Ian was interested in him? Was a fucking Yelp review really more important than Mickey's own happiness?

It's not even a matter of stealing Ian from the secret admirer. Ian is skeeved out by the gifts, rightly so, if you ask Mickey. So who is it really hurting if he explores this little attraction with his customer? 

Mickey takes a long sip of his beer before dropping it down on his nightstand and picking up his bowl instead. He flicks his lighter atop the weed and takes a long haul off the pipe. He closes his eyes as he exhales toward the ceiling, his thoughts already circling back to his redheaded customer. 

Finally feeling like he has somewhat of a plan regarding Ian, he surrenders to that now familiar urge, trailing his hand along his chest to grab his semi-hard cock. 

He's had a long day, and he thinks he deserves a little relief. 

 

Thursday, February 13

 

Ian shook his head as he entered his apartment, sending snow and cold water splattering all over the wall and floor. He kicked his boots off and hung up his coat in the closet before wandering tiredly into the kitchen. He dropped his work bag on the island and groaned, rotating his sore shoulder. His shitbox car was in the shop, and the El was down, so he had to walk ten blocks in the cold wet snow to get home. It was an hour later than he usually got home, and he was irritated and tired. 

His students had all been utter assholes, all day long. Every single class had been a challenge. The freshmen complained about their book reports, the seniors were irate over their midterm projects. Everyone was angry about the pop quiz. Ian had been on the verge of a violent tirade, only saved from losing his shit by the final bell. 

All he wanted to do was come home and relax. He wasn't going to look at a single paper, or read a single paragraph all night. He's glad he decided on reading poetry tomorrow. No concrete answers, no tests. Just interpretation and discussion. 

It's not only his students that have him stressed out. The more he thinks about his secret admirer, the more freaked out he gets. Whoever this guy is, he knows way too much about Ian's life for Ian's comfort. Ian had spent all day wracking his brain, trying to figure out who it could be. Is it that guy Preston from the gym that's always asking him out for coffee? Is it one of his ex-boyfriends, or an old regular from the club? Could it be a coworker? Ian runs through every gay coworker he has, and can't imagine any of them pulling this wacko shit. 

He's utterly at a loss. And as the holiday looms over him, he's worried about the grand finale of all this madness. 

The only good thing to come out of this fiasco is Mickey. Ian smiles to himself as he thinks of his delivery guy. His smile, his voice. That kiss they shared. Ian can feel his body reacting just to the memory. Jesus. 

What are the odds? Out of all the gift shops in the city, his weirdo Valentine's stalker picked Mickey's shop. If that isn't kismet, Ian doesn't know what is.

Because no matter what happens with Valentine's day, and no matter who his nameless admirer is, Ian is sure as fuck glad he met Mickey. Ian's excited about a guy for the first time in a long time. 

Ian wonders if it would be out of line to send the admirer a thank you card, after all of this is said and done. Not for the gifts of course, but for inadvertently introducing him to Mickey. He smirks to himself as he pops some left over chicken and rice in the microwave and grabs a beer. He flops down tiredly on the couch and turns on the news. Channel 9 news at 5:30. 

Ian is barely listening to the latest accounts of political corruption and inflation rates, silently counting down the moments in his head until Mickey once again knocks on his door. 

 

***

 

Mickey is nervous, which is odd. He can't remember the last time he was actually anxious about seeing a guy. 

A customer, his mind supplied. Ian is a customer. Technically. For thirty six more hours. 

Not that Mickey is counting, because he's not. He doesn't have some countdown going in his head until Ian is no longer part of his job. He's not spending all his free time wondering if Ian is going to make a move after the contract is over. He's not wondering if Ian's thinking of him, he's not wondering if Ian's waiting for him to arrive. 

He's not. 

He shakes off his ridiculous thoughts as he hops on the elevator and hit the button for Ian's floor, resting the huge box he's delivering on his hip as he waits for the doors to reopen. He taps his foot anxiously, wondering what fresh hell is contained in today's secret admirer gift. 

Ian's clandestine Valentine gives Mickey intense serial killer vibes, and Mickey wonders, not for the first time, how Ian's going to shut this guy down without fists flying. 

Mickey knows he'll beat the guy's ass, if need be. That thought should worry him. He hasn't been in a fist fight in a long time, he doesn't solve his problems that way anymore. Not to mention the fact that he barely knows Ian. He doesn't owe him anything, and he's not even sure Ian would want him stepping in to white knight that shit. But he would. He would dole out a beating for Ian, if he had to. 

The elevator doors slide open and Mickey makes his way toward Ian's door. He knocks and steps back, waiting. 

He doesn't have to wait long. Ian swings the door open, huge smile on his face. "Hey Mick." 

Mickey did not miss the nickname. Mandy is the only one who calls him Mick, but Mickey has to admit, it sounds much more alluring rolling off Ian's tongue. "Come in. Let's see what you've got in your little grab bag of insanity today." 

Mickey chuckled, walking past Ian and making his way to the living room. He flops down on the couch like he owns the place, laying the box on coffee the table. Ian joins him a moment later with two beers and takes a seat next to him. 

It's like they have a little routine for these visits now, and Mickey marvels that he could get so comfortable with someone in such a short time. He had spent less than an hour in Ian's company, all together. But he felt totally at ease with the other man. 

He took a sip of his beer and regarded Ian. He was sitting next to Mickey with one foot up on the couch, slouching back against the arm rest looking casual as hell in his black sweats and tight white thermal. Every single muscle in his torso was clearly visible through the fabric and Mickey licked his lips unconsciously at the visual. 

"So what's in the box?" Ian asked, tipping his beer bottle toward the package. "Severed head?"

"Sure fucking hope not." Mickey chuckled, placing his beer on the table next to the box and fishing in his pocket for the ever-present index card. He read it quickly before shaking his head. "I really hope that doesn't mean what I think it does." 

"What?" Ian laughed, reaching out and shoving Mickey's shoulder. "It can't be as bad as the cursed portrait." 

"I wouldn't be so sure." Mickey mumbled before reading the card. "Roses are red, violets are blue. I like it kinky, how about you? Love, your secret admirer." Mickey was blushing like a tomato by the time he finished reciting the stupid rhyme. Please, for the love of god, don't let it be what Mickey thinks it is. 

"No fucking way." Ian gasped, feeling utterly scandalized. 

"Um, if you want me to just take it back...." Mickey started, but Ian waved him off. 

"Oh no." he shook his head. "I want you to witness this with me, in case I decide to file a police report." 

Mickey couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so he just shrugged and sat back as Ian opened the box and peered inside. 

"Oh, what the fuck." Ian spat, grabbing the box and dumping it upside down onto the couch, filling the space between them with a veritable cornucopia of sex toys. 

Mickey's eyes bugged out of his head as his whole face flushed hot. Oh god. No. Please, anything but this bullshit. 

"Are you seeing this?" Ian asked incredulously, picking up a nine inch flesh colored dildo. 

"Kinda hard to miss." Mickey replied quietly, eyeing the mess of toys in front of him. Not only were there dildos and vibrators, but there were three different size butt plugs, a prostate massager like the one Mickey had at home in a locked drawer, a set of enticing looking metal anal beads, and a vibrating rubber ring for your tongue, which honestly looks painful. Mickey picks up one item after then next, inspecting each piece with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

He has to laugh as he eyes the kinky paraphernalia. Every time he thinks he's seen it all, something else catches his attention, and he's shocked all over again. There is a set of silicone cock rings, a pair of legit metal handcuffs, complete with key. A blindfold, feather teaser and even a fucking riding crop and nipple clamps. All topped off with a variety pack of lubes and massage gel. 

Honestly, it's a decent kit, and under different circumstances, it would be pretty hot. 

But it's not hot, because it's a 'gift' from a stranger, who is making some serious fucking assumptions. 

"Mick, who sends a gift like this to a person they don't know?" Ian whispered, shoving the toys away from him. They landed scattered on the floor and Mickey couldn't help but laugh a little at the insanity of it all.

"I mean, I don't know, are you sure it's not someone from your past?" Mickey asked. He honestly can't imagine a total stranger sending a gift like this. 

"Um, no." Ian replied, holding up a little toy/dvd combo. He shoved it into Mickey's hands, and Mickey burst out laughing again when he saw what he was holding. 

"The secret pleasures of anal play. A gift set for your favorite bottom?" he turned the plastic package in his hand, realizing he had a bottom starter kit in his hands. A set of butt plugs in various sizes, some anal ease lube, and a set of silicone beads. The dvd looked like your basic how-to for ass play beginners. "So, are you pissed this guy is assuming you take it, or that he's assuming you're so inexperienced you need a instruction manual?" 

Ian glared at him, but couldn't maintain is irritation as he gazed at Mickey's gleeful smirk. "You're a dick." he decided. 

"Mhmmm." Mickey nodded, still smirking. "Cuz there's nothing wrong with taking a dick, you know." 

"I never said there was." Ian replied indignantly. "It's just rude to assume I'd be willing to bend over for this asshole." 

"Maybe it's just wishful thinking." Mickey reasoned, but clamped his mouth shut real quick when Ian's glare turned murderous. "Just saying, you can't blame a guy for getting excited over the prospect of bangin' you, I mean..." Mickey swept his hand up and down Ian's body, encompassing his entire being. 

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "So not the point here, Mick." 

"I get it, Ian." Mickey sighed. "It's creepy and presumptuous, but isn't that your stalker's MO? Did you expect any less?" 

Ian sighed, shaking his head. "Guess not." 

"So what do you want to do here?" Mickey asked. It was getting late and he was supposed to meet up with Iggy at the Alibi for a beer in like a half an hour. "You want me to take these outta your house?" 

Ian glanced over at Mickey before looking down and the pile of perversion on his carpet. "I mean, I don't know. What are you gonna do with them?" 

"Take them home." Mickey replied, like Ian was the slowest person on the planet. "This is like a hundred bucks worth of free sex toys." 

"Does that mean that you....." Ian started, nodding toward the toys with his eyebrows raised. 

"Don't ask stupid fucking questions." Mickey replied simply. Mickey's plan to keep his distance until after the contract went up in flames under the heated look Ian gave him at that statement. 

Ian's heart started pounding in his chest. He could feel himself nodding, but it was almost like an out of body experience. 

Mickey was a bottom. Sweet jesus. 

He is for sure sending his creepy stalker a thank you note after this madness is over. 

"Good to know." Ian whispered, inching closer to Mickey on the sofa. Mickey couldn't help but smile as Ian closed the distance between them. 

Ian reached out, running his hand along Mickey's thigh. Mickey swears he can feel Ian's fingertips burning a hole right through his jeans. Ian doesn't stop advancing on Mickey until he's pretty much on top of him. Ian hovers over him, pinning him to the couch with his hips. 

Mickey tilts his head back, locking eyes with Ian. He smiles, eyebrows raised in challenge. "I take it you're a gold star, then?" he asks boldly. 

"I'm a giver by nature." Ian smirks, rolling his hips gently against Mickey's growing erection. Ian is already hard, and Mickey wonders how long he's been that way, and what he can do to help Ian with that problem.  


"Good to know." Mickey mirrored Ian's earlier words, cupping the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss. 

Ian let his body settle heavily on top of Mickey's as he kissed him breathless. He groaned against Mickey's lips as Mickey's thighs came up to rest on his hips and his tattooed fingers found their way to his hair. 

"Fuck." Ian muttered, shoving his tongue into Mickey's mouth, desperate to taste him. 

Mickey grinned against Ian's lips, utterly entranced by the man on top of him. Mickey's not even a big fan of making out, but kissing Ian is the only thing he wants to be doing right now. 

Just as the make out session was gaining real steam, Mickey's phone started going off in his pocket. The strident ringing filled the air, popping the sexually charged bubble with a quickness. 

"Fuck." Ian repeated, exasperation coloring his tone instead of lust. He crawled off of Mickey and sat back on the couch, adjusting his raging hard on as discreetly as he could while Mickey pulled out his phone to answer it. 

"What?" 

"Mick, are you gonna meet me or what?" Iggy's irritated voice crackled over the line and Mickey sighed. Fuck. 

He's late. 

"Yeah. I'm on my way." he said, standing from the couch and shoving his dick down to rest against his thigh. 

This is going to be an uncomfortable drive. 

"Gotta go?" Ian asked, already knowing the answer. 

"Yeah." Mickey nodded. "Gotta meet my brother, gas up the van for tomorrow. We're gonna be crazy busy." 

"Alright. You gonna take your toys?" Ian smirked, motioning over his shoulder toward the giant pile of toys in his living room. 

Mickey shook his head, smiling as he made his way to the front door. "Can I just pick them up tomorrow after work?" 

"Yeah." Ian nodded eagerly. "Wait, do you have to do the last delivery tomorrow? My admirer?" 

"Yeah, I do. To complete the contract." Mickey replied, hand resting on the doorknob. Ian was standing so close, his breath was fanning against Mickey's face. God, he wanted to kiss him again. He controlled himself, but just barely. "I don't want to, Ian, but the guy already paid and unless you make a formal complaint to my sister, she'll have my ass if I don't do it. She already warned me off you. She'll have my balls in a mason jar if she finds out I'm hanging out with a customer on the clock. Never mind not completing deliveries." 

Ian sighed, planting his hand against the door so Mickey couldn't leave. "Mick, can we just agree that we are well beyond the client/delivery guy thing now? I mean, I think you're pretty fucking cool, and I'd like to hang out. You know, without the creepy implied third party." 

"I'd like that too, Ian." Mickey nodded, smiling like a moron. Fuck it. The contract was up after the last delivery. "What are you doing tomorrow night? I get off work around this time." 

"Valentine's day? You wanna hang out on Valentine's day?" Ian asked, eyes wide. 

"Sure." Mickey shrugged. "You don't have plans, do you?" he really hopes Ian wouldn't lead him on this whole time if he had a date lined up all along. 

"Nope." Ian shook his head, unable to temper his smile. "Well, there is a chance I'll have to fight off my superfan." 

"You think he's gonna show up?" 

"I mean, that's what all this is leading up to, right?" Ian can see this whole scenario ending no other way. "With the suit he sent and all that, I'm guessing he's gonna show up here and try to sweep me off my feet." 

"Well, here." Mickey said, grabbing Ian's phone out of his hand. He quickly typed in his digits before handing the phone back to a grinning Ian. "Text me your number so I know it's you calling, and if that fucking weirdo shows up before I get here, call me and I'll haul ass down here and toss him out on his nutjob shitty poetry writing ass." 

Ian laughed, dipping his head down quickly, kissing Mickey hard on the mouth. Mickey smiled against Ian's lips, curling his fingers into the fabric of his tank top. 

"Threats of violence get you hot?" Mickey smirked, taking a step back. 

"Nah." Ian shook his head, smiling. "Cute guys willing to defend my honor do." 

"Fucking dork." Mickey laughed, pushing Ian's grinning face away with an open palm. "I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if Creepshow shows up." 

"Will do. Goodnight." 

Mickey nodded, turning and exiting the apartment. 

All the way to the bar he couldn't stop smiling. 

This is for sure the first time Mickey got anything worth keeping from one of his deliveries. 

And he's not talking about the sex toys. 

 

***

 

Friday, February 14th. Valentine's Day.

"Love will come. And when love comes, it will hold you. Love will call your name, and you will melt. Sometimes though, love will hurt you, but love will never mean to. Love will play no games cuz love knows life has been hard enough already." Ian read the poem and glanced up at his students. He was met with the usual blank stares. He held in a sigh. "Okay guys, what do you think Rupi Kaur is trying to say with this poem?" he waited, eyebrows raised for someone to raise their hand. 

Finally, after a long pause, one of his better students raised her hand. "Yes, Amy." 

"Um, well, like, she's saying that love is awesome, even if you get burned once in a while. And, like, don't give up hope, cuz even if it's crappy for a while, you'll find the right person, or whatever." 

"Good, Amy. That's one way to interpret the poem. The cool thing about poetry is that is often means different things to different people." 

Just then the bell rang, and his last class of the day was over. Ian was excited. He couldn't wait to get home and get ready for Mickey's arrival. They hadn't made any concrete plans, and Ian didn't want to come on too strong. So he decided on chinese food and beer. That was casual, right? No pressure type shit. That's what Ian wanted, because even though he liked Mickey, he didn't want to send the message that this evening was a big romantic Valentine's date. It was much too soon for that shit, and Ian didn't want to scare off an already reticent Mickey. 

Ian's secret admirer's contract with Moments by Mandy was over as soon as the last package was delivered. Then Ian could pursue Mickey the way he wanted to. And he was going to. 

As he piloted his car out of the faculty parking lot and toward his apartment, he kept thinking of that last poem he read to his class... 'love will play no games, cuz love knows life has been hard enough already.' 

Life has been hard for Ian. Really fucking hard. But he can't help but still be hopeful. Hopeful for a better tomorrow, and someone to share it all with. Hopeful that that someone just might be Mickey.

 

***

 

Mickey has been sitting in the van outside Ian's apartment for almost a half an hour. He finished all his other Valentine's Day deliveries and just had this one last box to drop off before he was off the clock. So now he's sitting in front of Ian's building like he's casing the joint, smoking cigarettes and biting his nails down to the nub. 

He's not sure what his problem is. Why can't he just take this box and go upstairs? Because he's suddenly been crippled by a massive wave of anxiety, that's why. 

It's not over Mandy's bullshit, that's for sure. Ian is no longer their client after this shit is done. If Mandy has a problem with him hanging out with Ian, she can get fucked. Mickey's allowed to have nice things in life too. That shit's not reserved for assholes like the Secret Stalker, who think they can pay their way into anyone's pants. 

That's not it at all. Mickey knows what it is, even if he doesn't want to admit it. 

He has the niggling fear that once he delivers this last package from the Secret Stalker, Ian will lose interest. Maybe Ian just thinks he likes Mickey because he reminds Ian of the old neighborhood. Maybe Ian feels like slummin' it for a bit, and once his craving for an old school fuck with a south side scumbag is out of his system he'll drop Mickey like a bad habit and go back to fucking with those khaki wearing boyband motherfuckers. Like his dumbass neighbor.

Whatever. Why the hell is Mickey getting so bent out of shape over something that might not happen? He's not like this. He never gave a shit what anyone thought of him. And he certainly never worried about being used for sex. He needs to cut the faggy bullshit and man the fuck up. 

If Ian's not interested in Mickey beyond his ass, it is what it is. There's only one way to find out, and it's not sitting on said ass fretting like an old woman. 

He tosses his cigarette out the window and rolls it up before grabbing Ian's final gift and another small box and making his way into the building. 

His heart is thumping in his chest as he rides the elevator to Ian's floor. He eyes the small box in his hand, wondering what the Secret Stalker has planned for the grand finale. Looking at the tiny box in his hand, he has to admit, it all feels a bit anticlimactic. Mickey figured it would be something insane, like a marching band, or a Bengal tiger pup. But no, it's a tiny ass box. Mickey hopes it's not a bloody cow's heart or something. 

He finally makes it to Ian's door and hesitates once more. He glances between the small wrapped box in his hand and the silver 3E on Ian's door. This is it. The last Secret Stalker gift. Then it's over, and Ian's no longer his contract or client. 

What the fuck is he waiting for? 

He knocks.

 

***

 

Ian's head shoots up comically fast when he hears the knock. He lurches off the couch and stumbles toward the door. He quickly glances at himself in the mirror. He's forgone his usual after work attire, instead opting to keep his slacks and dress shirt on. He'd unbuttoned the first few buttons and lost the tie, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. He smiled at his reflection, running his fingers through his hair before finally moving to open the door. 

And there he was. 

Ian smiled as he took in the man before him. Mickey was standing on the threshold, holding two boxes in his hands. He was wearing tight blue jeans and a very loud Hawaiian shirt. It was red with palm fronds and tropical birds dotted all over it. His hair was slicked back and he was sporting a smirk that struck Ian right in his gut. 

"Hey." Ian smiled, stepping aside so Mickey could come in. 

"Happy Valentine's day, Mr. Gallagher." Mickey replied, still smirking. 

"Mr. Gallagher, really?" Ian laughed, leaving Mickey to take his regular seat while he wandered over to the fridge to grab two beers. He placed them on the coffee table and sat next to Mickey. He crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back against the cushions. 

"I am technically still on the clock, man." Mickey shrugged, placing his boxes on the coffee table and grabbing his beer. He takes a long, satisfying sip and sighs. Damn, he needed that. He'd had a long day, driving all over Chicago and the surround suburbs delivering Valentines since seven a.m. That's eleven straight hours on the road. Eleven straight hours of dealing with the public, Mickey's least favorite thing in the whole world. Eleven hours of 'thank you, ma'am.' and 'have a nice day, sir.' Eleven hours of fake smiles and Valentine's day well-wishes he didn't mean. 

"Until I open this last gift from Stalker Extraordinaire?" Ian grinned, dropping his beer to pick up the two boxes. 

"Um, just the small one is from your stalker." Mickey mumbled quietly. He sipped his beer, casting his eyes out the window when Ian turned to face him. 

"What?" Ian asked, picking up the smaller box. "Then what's in the big one?" 

Mickey shrugged, that nervousness taking over again. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. He's flailing, utterly clueless. He's not even sure what possessed him to bring a gift of his own. He just knows that he didn't want to come to Ian's house tonight, for whatever this is, (Is it a date? Mickey doesn't know.) and have that other guy's gift be the only thing in his hands. After the last Valentine's gift is delivered, and the contract is finally over, Mickey doesn't want to think about the secret admirer ever again. And he doesn't want Ian to either. 

"I just thought that I'd bring you a little something, cleanse your pallet of all these secret stalker gifts." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"You didn't have to do that." Ian smiled, laying a hand on Mickey's knee. "But I appreciate it, thank you." 

Mickey nodded, giving Ian a small smile of his own. 

"Well, lets get this over with so we can move on to the good stuff, huh?" Ian asked, grabbing up the smaller of the two boxes and glancing over toward Mickey expectantly. 

Oh yeah, the poem. He almost forgot. This is by far the dumbest part of this whole contract. He leaned back on the couch, slipping the card out of his pocket and looking over at Ian. He was watching Mickey carefully, waiting. 

Mickey sighed, fixing his eyes on the godforsaken card. 

"Valentine's day is finally upon us. I'm ready to face you, prepared to be honest. Put on this cologne and be ready by seven. If you are a good boy, I'll take you to heaven." 

Ian and Mickey stared at each other for a moment, just trying to process the note. Finally, Mickey shook his head, pocketing the note and grabbing his beer. "I can't tell if that was a boast about his skills in bed, or a threat of violence." 

Ian laughed, nodding. "It really could go either way with this guy." Ian grabbed the box and opened it, revealing a bottle of cologne. "What is this shit?" 

Mickey eyed the bottle, then shrugged once more. "Dunno. I'm sure the box would have more information than my dumb ass." 

Ian turned the box so he could read it. "Oh, come the fuck on." he groaned. 

"What?" Mickey asked, a smile splitting his lips. He knew whatever it was, it was going to be wildly inappropriate. 

"Etat Libre d'Oranges Secretions Magnifiques is a sweet fragrance based on your basest, most erotic desires. A scent derived from and based on saliva, blood and semen, Etat Libre will leave you craving more." 

Mickey looked over at Ian, who was gaping at the bottle, disgusted. He couldn't hold back if he tried, he burst out laughing. Ian just stared at him, shaking his head. 

"He gave me a bottle of cologne that smells like cum and blood? What the fuck?" 

"He's sending some pretty strong signals, I'll give you that." Mickey laughed, plucking the box from Ian's hands. "I have to smell it now." he said, opened the box to reveal the small bottle with a silver cap. He uncapped the bottle and sprayed a little into the air, leaning into the mist. He lurched back against the couch, grimacing. "Ew, that's fucking nasty." 

Ian laughed, grabbing the bottle and placing it on the coffee table. "Did you expect anything else? Of course it was gonna be gross." he glanced at Mickey, grinning. "So, we're done now, right? The contract is up?" 

Mickey nodded, his own lips curling into a smile. "Yeah. We're done. I am no longer on the clock, and you are officially no longer my client." 

Ian nodded, scooting closer to Mickey on the couch. "So is this the start of our date? Cuz I already ordered Chinese. Should be here soon." 

"Chinese, huh?" Mickey asked, cocking his head to the side. "They do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." 

Ian chuckled, nodding. "They do say that." 

"So if this is the start of our date, you should open the gift I brought." Mickey suggested. He wanted to get the gift out of the way. Maybe after Ian opened the gift, some of the residual anxiety he's feeling will dissipate. He's still not sure why he feels so wound up, but he really wants to be able to enjoy this evening with Ian. If only his traitorous mind would let him. 

He can't stop thinking about the Secret Stalker, or the fact that Ian was a customer until about five minutes ago. If this thing between them actually grows legs, he'll have to tell his sister. He's not looking forward to that conversation, but Ian's worth it. Even this early, Mickey can tell. He'd do pretty much anything to keep spending time with Ian, up to and including taking a beating from his sister. That should worry him, but it doesn't. When he's this close to Ian, nothing bothers him like it it usually would. 

He's not sure how to feel about that either. 

"Okay." Ian said, his eyes never leaving Mickey's as he leaned over and grabbed the box from the table. He opened the box to reveal a black velvet pouch. His brow furrowed as he felt the weight of the object. He opened the pouch and took out a bottle. It was a tall bottle with fancy script on the label and a brushed copper top. He grinned over at Mickey, eyebrows raised. "Irish whiskey?" 

Mickey nodded. He could feel a hot blush breaking out along his neck, which only served to embarrass him further. He ran his fingers along his lower lip, chancing a glance at Ian who was now busy reading the label on the bottle. 

"Dead Rabbits?" Ian asked, finally looking over at Mickey. He was surprised to find Mickey watching him carefully. He smiled, returning Mickey's appraising gaze. "Like Gangs of New York?" he pointed to the bottle. 

"Um, yeah. The Dead Rabbits was a gang of Irish immigrants. Remembered through history for their epic fight with the Natives during the New York draft riots." Mickey mumbled, well aware of the fact that his nerd was showing. 

Ian smirked at him. "You know that shit from the movie? Leonardo Dicaprio was hot in that." 

Mickey laughed, shaking his head. "Nah. I mean, yeah, I saw the movie, but I knew about the Dead Rabbits long before that shit came out." 

Ian grinned at him, twisted the top off the bottle. "Do we have a history buff on our hands?" he asked, taking a swig straight from the bottle and passing it to Mickey. "Mm, that's good shit."

Mickey took his own sip, savoring the taste. Yeah, it was good. "I like history. Used to read a lot of shit like that in juvie. Not much else to do in there but work out and read." 

"Ooh, a reader too? Be still my beating teacher's heart." Ian laughed. The booze was heightening his confidence, making him feel bold and assertive. He closed the small distance between them on the couch and laid a hand on Mickey's knee. "You are just full of interesting surprises." 

Mickey smirked, turning on the couch to face Ian fully. "You have no idea." 

Ian chuckled, leaning closer still. "I wanna know." he whispered, his eyes darting all over Mickey's smirking face. 

"You say that now..." Mickey started, but was cut off when Ian surged forward and silenced him with a kiss. Ian was on him in a second, pressing Mickey into the armrest of the couch as he settled on top of him. 

Mickey groaned at the feeling of Ian's body pinning him down. He'd thought about this a lot in the past week, but the reality was exponentially better than his fantasies. He reached up, curling his fingers into Ian's red hair as he deepened the kiss. His tongue met Ian's and a thrill shot down his spine. God, it felt so damn good. 

Ian sighed into Mickey's open mouth, rolling his hips down against Mickey's growing bulge. Mickey moaned, tipping his head back and spreading his legs. One foot landed on the floor next to the couch as he hooked the other one over the back of the couch. Ian moved into the space, pressing his body tightly against Mickey's as they kissed and kissed. Mickey tasted like whiskey and Ian couldn't get enough. He hummed in the back of his throat, his whole body tingling at the feel of Mickey's fingers digging into the back of his head, pulling him closer. 

Ian shoved a hand under Mickey's shirts, aching for the feel of his skin, hot and smooth under his fingertips. Mickey groaned, pushing Ian off and away. Ian stared down at him, chest heaving, confusion in his blown-out green eyes. 

"Take that fucking shirt off, or I'm gonna tear it off your body." Mickey said, already working on his own shirt. Ian grinned, nodding, his fingers flying to his own buttons. He made quick work of his dress shirt, ripping it off his shoulders and tossing it over the back of the couch. By the time he was finished, Mickey was reaching for him again. His back hit the couch cushions as Ian settled on top of him once more. Ian's lips are hot against his, his tongue dipping into his mouth fervently. Ian's hand skims down Mickey's side and Mickey arches into the touch, gasping as Ian's prominent bulge presses down against his own hard cock. 

"God, Mickey, you feel so good. I can't wait to fuck you." Ian murmured against Mickey's lips, rolling his hips down, chasing friction. Ian is positive Mickey knows his way around a cock. He just has that way about him. That sexy confidence that bleeds into everything he does. Ian's confident that shit transfers into the bedroom. 

"Fuck yeah." Mickey sighs, curling his fingers into Ian's hair again as Ian works his neck with his lips and tongue. "But you know that shit's not happening tonight." he likes Ian, a lot. He likes him so much that he doesn't want to risk this shit being a 'one and done' situation. He's never found himself in this exact scenario before, wanting something beyond the physical. But he finds that he wants that with Ian. Even after only knowing him such a short time, Mickey knows he wants more than a quick fuck. "Soon, but not tonight." he says quietly, drawing Ian's attention. He pulls his head away from Mickey's neck so he can look into his eyes. 

"That's cool." Ian says sincerely, moving to sit up. Mickey doesn't let him go, however. He holds Ian tight against his body, his fingers still tangled in his hair. Ian looked down on him curiously, his confusion only growing when Mickey's free hand slid down his chest to rest on his bulge. "Um, I thought you wanted to wait?" 

Mickey grinned up at him, licking his lips. "Just cuz I'm not gonna let you stick your dick in me doesn't mean I'm gonna leave you hangin'." he made quick work of Ian's zipper, pulling out his dick. He ran his hand along the shaft, intensely pleased to find Ian's dick was just as impressive as the rest of him. "You gonna return the favor, or?" 

Ian nodded eagerly, leaning on one elbow so he could get to Mickey's pants. They were tight, and it was a struggle to release his raging erection from the confines of his jeans, but once it sprang free, Ian swears his mouth started to water. Mickey has such a pretty dick. It's not as big as his, but not many are. That shit doesn't matter, though, when he wraps his hand around the shaft and feels the hot skin under his fingers. He thumbs the head, smearing the precum down the shaft as he starts to jerk him off in earnest. 

"Fuck." Mickey groaned, his hips jerking into Ian's grasp as he himself tried to set a good rhythm. His eyes slipped shut as he lost himself in the sensation. It was awkward though, their hands crossed over each other, moving out of sync. 

"Stop." Ian said, pulling away the slightest bit. Mickey's hand stilled mid pump, his eyes flying back open. 

"What?" Mickey asked, dropping his hand from Ian's cock. What now?

"Let me." Ian said, wrapping one big hand around both their erections. He squeezed their cocks together, immensely pleased at the moan that slipped past Mickey's lips. "Just let me. Relax." 

Mickey nodded, sinking his now free hand into Ian's hair once more, pulling him into a biting kiss as Ian's hand started moving again. Their tongues tangled outside their mouths, spreading spit all over both their chins. For whatever reason, that turned Mickey on even more. He was hot all over, thrusting up gently into Ian's grasp. Ian groaned, shoving his tongue into Mickey's mouth. He squeezed his hand, his own hips pumping into his fist. Ian covered Mickey's body completely, leaning over him on the couch, caging him in as his hand moved between their bodies. 

Ian was close. He wanted Mickey to come first, but the chances of that happening were diminishing by the moment. It was just to fucking hot, all of it. The taste of Mickey's lips, the feel of his body under Ian's, his leaking cock pulsing in Ian's grasp. Ian leaned closer still, burying his face in Mickey's neck, biting and sucking at the column of his throat. His hips rock into his fist as Mickey's thighs shake on his hips. 

Mickey moans, and Ian grins against his neck. "Can't wait to fuck you." he says without thinking. "I bet you're wild in bed. I'm gonna make you feel so good, can't wait to show you what I can do." 

Mickey moans again, pressing his head into the couch cushions as his orgasm overtakes him. He pinches his eyes shut tight at pleasure shoots through his body, leaving him a quivering, gasping mess. He shoots his load all over Ian's moving hand and his own chest, but can't be bothered to care. Once he's spent, Ian drops his spent dick in favor of bringing himself over the edge. Mickey's eyes snap back open and he pulls Ian into another desperate kiss. He wraps his hand around Ian's fist, and their hands start to move in tandem. He kissed Ian hungrily as they worked together to bring him over the edge. 

"Fuck." Ian gasped out, finally succumbing to the building pressure, coming all over Mickey's bare chest and promptly collapsing on top of him, heedless to the mess. 

Mickey let him catch his breath for a minute before he was pushing him off. "Get up. You're crushing me." Mickey laughed. 

Ian huffed, but sat up. He waited a moment for his heart to stop pounding before he stood and moved toward the kitchen. He pulled a dishrag from the drawer by the sink, wetting it and using it to clean up the mess on his chest. He handed it to Mickey when he was done, smiling at Mickey's disgusted face as he wiped the copious fluids from his chest and stomach. 

Once they were both cleaned up and redressed, Ian fell back onto the sofa next to Mickey. 

"So, that happened." Ian commented, turning toward Mickey with his eyebrows raised. 

"Very perceptive of you." Mickey shot back incredulously. How Ian could be so incredibly sexy and simultaneously such a god damn dork was a mystery. 

"So, what does this mean?" Ian asked, motioning between the two of them. "Like, now that the contract's done, you're here to be with me, right? This is a date?" 

Mickey bit his lip, gazing into Ian's earnest eyes. He nodded, giving Ian a small smile. "Yeah, it's a date, but don't get it twisted, I don't put out on the first date. Whatever happened just now was an anomaly. You're not getting in my pants any time soon." 

Ian grinned, opening his mouth to retort when there was a knock on his door. 

"Shit, that's probably the food." Ian said, buttoning the last few buttons of his shirt and grabbing his wallet off the coffee table. He gave Mickey another one of those smitten smiles before bounding toward the door. 

Mickey leaned back against the couch cushions, smiling to himself. Who would have thought he'd find someone like Ian while driving that stupid flower van...

Shit. The flower van. The delivery. 

Fuck. 

He sat up on the couch, his eyes finding the clock on the cable box. 

6:50

God damn it, that's not the fucking chinese food at the door.

Mickey was up and running toward the front door before he knew what he was doing. 

 

***

 

Ian grinned to himself as he made his way to the front door. This had to be the most fortuitous meeting in his entire life. He can't believe his luck. He can't remember the last time he felt this way about a man. 

He opens the door, ready to replace some of the energy he and Mickey burned off with empty calories and MSG. 

It's not the chinese food at the door, though. Ian cocks his head to the side in confusion just as Mickey runs up behind him, going so fast that he slips on Ian's hardwood floor and slams into Ian's back, sending him flying into the visitor. 

"Whoa, Ian." Tad smiles, gripping Ian by the shoulders and standing him up again. His smile falters when his eyes fall on Ian and Mickey. He pointedly ignores Mickey, glancing at Ian with an odd look on his face.

"You're not dressed." is what comes out of his mouth. 

"Ian, it's seven pm." Mickey mutters, staying close to Ian. His eyes are hard on Ian's neighbor. The one who gave him the dirty look the other day. 

Ian's neighbor is the Secret Stalker. 

Ian is a bit slower on the uptake. He glances back at Mickey, the towards Tad again. "Dressed?" he asked, confused. 

"Yes, Ian. Dressed." Tad replied irritably. "In the suit I sent you. In the suit this person was supposed to deliver to you." Tad shoves a finger in Mickey's face and Mickey takes a step forward. 

"Get that shit outta my face unless you want me to break it off." Mickey growled. 

The realization dawns on Ian and he takes a step back. "Tad, are you the one sending me all these gifts?" he takes another step back as Tad advances on him, colliding once more with Mickey, who is still hovering between Ian and the open apartment door. 

"Well, yes." Tad nods, giving Ian a bright, slightly disturbing smile. "I had to get your attention, show you how serious I was." Tad eyed Ian hungrily before casting a much harder eye on Mickey. "What are you doing here? Are you waiting for a tip?" he asked Mickey, disdain dripping in his tone. "Because I already told your sister, I don't tip the help for doing their job. Besides, your service was subpar at best." 

"Motherfucker." Mickey growled, stepping forward, but Ian stopped him with a restraining hand on his arm. 

"Mick." Ian said quietly. "Let me." 

Mickey nodded, glaring at Tad but stepping back once more.

"Tad, I don't know how else to say this." Ian said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm just not interested. I appreciate the sentiment, but nothing is going to happen between us." 

Tad's face darkened as he stared at Ian incredulously. His face was quickly turning a deep shade of red, and his dull brown eyes were wide and full of anger. 

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Tad growled. "Do you have any idea how much money I spent on your twink ass?" 

"I do." Mickey cut in, flexing his fingers. "But that shit don't matter. Didn't anyone ever tell you you can't buy someone's affections. Does he look like a whore to you? And don't call him a twink." Mickey's voice was low and deadly, and even though Ian just told him to stay out of it, he has to admit, protective Mickey Milkovich is a sight to behold. 

"Why don't you mind your business, delivery boy. This is between Ian and I." Tad spat. His hand shot out to grip Ian's wrist, but Mickey was faster. He tangled his fingers in Tad's mousy brown hair and dragged his head down, just as he brought his knee up. Tad's face collided with Mickey's kneecap, the wet crunch of his nose being broken echoed through the hallway, making Ian cringe. 

Tad yelped, crumbling to the floor when Mickey finally let go of his hair and shoved him away. He landed in a heap against the hallway wall, clutching his bleeding nose and wailing like a little bitch. 

"My nose! You fucking psycho." Tad cried, glaring up at Mickey with tears in his eyes. He had blood all over his face and the bridge of his nose was distorted and already starting to bruise and swell. "I'm calling the cops." 

"Yeah, you do that." Mickey grinned, dropping to one knee so he was eye to eye with Tad again. He patted him on the cheek, causing the other man to shrink away. "Go ahead and tell them that I kicked your ass cuz you rolled up on my friend's house here, looking to bang him, and got all handsy when he said no. I'm sure that shit will go over gangbusters. What do you think, Ian?" 

Ian was leaning up against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his chest, smiling down at Mickey as he intimidated his neighbor. Ian has to be fucked in the head to find all this endearing. 

"I think it would be best for everyone if you just went home, Tad, and we forgot this ever happened. Just go back to you place. I don't want any trouble, and I'm sure you don't either. Right?" 

"No." Tad shook his head quickly, sending blood flying from his nose. Mickey backed up, disgusted. 

"Watch it, asshole." Mickey said, standing and stepping back so Tad could stumble to his feet. He started to move down the hall when Mickey stopped him with an iron grip around his wrist. Tad cringed, trying to pull away. But Mickey was stronger. 

"What? What do you want?" Tad whimpered, cowering like he was about to piss himself. 

"I think you owe Ian an apology for scaring him. These deliveries had him thinking he had a fucking stalker. Was that your intention, Tad?" 

"No." Tad shook his head, cupping under his nose to keep his blood from dripping all over the hallway. "I just wanted to impress you. Didn't think it would be too hard." he said to Ian, looking him up and down. "Show you how the other half lives, show you what it's like to date a guy with class. I didn't mean anything by it. But you clearly have a type, and it's not me." he glared at Mickey, who released him finally. Tad stumbled toward the elevator. "Don't worry, Ian, I won't bother you again. You're hot and all, but I don't have a death wish." with that, Tad was on the elevator and out of Ian's life for good, hopefully. 

"Um, did I come at a bad time?" a voice from behind them caused both men to jump. Mickey spun around, still high off the fight, fists up. 

"Mick, it's the chinese food." Ian said, gripping Mickey by the arm and pulling him back, stopping him from committing a second assault in as many minutes. 

"Sorry, I got lost." the delivery guy said. "Ended up on the seventh floor by accident, had to use the stairs cuz the elevator was taking forever." he rambled as thrust the bag into Ian's hand and moved to get on the now vacant elevator. The delivery guy's eyes were glued to Mickey's bloody shirt, and Ian can only guess at what he's thinking. "Enjoy your meal." 

"Hey, wait up." Mickey said, following the kid down the hall. The poor guy turned, face ashen, body tight like he was expecting a punch. Imagine his surprise when Mickey stuffed a five dollar into his hand. "I deliver too. See all kinda crazy shit." Mickey said by way of explanation. The kid smiled, nodding. 

"Thanks man, have a good night." he said as he finally got on the elevator. 

"I intend to." Mickey replied, making his way back to Ian's apartment. 

 

***

 

"You didn't have to do that." Ian said, stuffing some pad thai noodles into his mouth. 

"Do what?" Mickey asked, though he was sure he knew what Ian was referring to. 

"Defend my honor with Tad." 

"Eh, I didn't do that for you." Mickey shrugged, sipping his beer before stuffing a boneless pork rib in his mouth. 

"No?" Ian laughed, clearly unconvinced. "I can take care of myself, you know." 

"Never said you couldn't." Mickey replied. "That guy was a douchebag. He made my life hell all week with his creepy ass. Stupid gifts and even worse poetry. I was itching for a reason to fuck him up." 

Mickey eyes darted around the apartment as he spoke, certain his eyes would give away how full of shit he was. 

"Ah, silly me." Ian needled, not buying that bullshit for a second. "So it was all about the shitty poetry, huh?" 

"Dude, you heard that garbage. Imagine having to say it out loud, with a straight face. Fucking poetry, come on." 

"I mean, poetry can be really powerful in the right setting." Ian replied, plucking Mickey's food out of his hands and setting on the table next to his own. He pressed Mickey up against the back of the couch, laying a gentle hand on the side of his face. Their eyes met, and Mickey felt all the oxygen getting sucked out of the room. 

Ian gazed deep into Mickey's wide eyes, smiling as he spoke. "I'll bring you coffee in bed if you wish. I'll stay naked in the sheets if you ask. I'll wrap these arms around you and tell you it will be okay...."  


As Ian recited the poem, Mickey could feel his face heating up. His heart was pounding as his eyes darted all over Ian's smiling face. No one had ever done something like this for Mickey, and he's not sure what to do with it. 

Ian grinned, his fingers curling into Mickey's hair and pulling their foreheads together. "I'll kiss you like it's a promise, I'll look at you like it's an oath. And I'll stay. I'll stay, I'll stay." Ian leaned forward, pressing their lips together gently. "That's a poem by Tyler Knott Gregson." Ian said quietly, suddenly feeling insecure. 

Mickey's face split into a wide smile, unable to control his damn face for a second. He slid forward, wrapping his arms around's Ian's shoulder and kissing him softly. Softer than he's ever kissed anyone. Ian gasped, pulling Mickey closer, tipping his head for a better angle. Ian let Mickey lead the kiss, losing himself in the sound of his uneven breathing and his taste on Ian's tongue. He pulled Mickey closer, delving deeper, unable to get enough. 

Mickey pulled away once they were both hard and panting. 

"Jesus." Ian wheezed. "Can't believe you're gonna make me wait for it." he grinned, laying a palm on Mickey's ass, squeezing playfully. "Want you so bad right now." 

Mickey just watched him for a minute before deciding 'fuck it.' He may as well be honest. "I've never wanted to wait before, honestly. No one ever struck me as worth the wait. No one I wanted to actually be with, you know? Beyond fucking." he cocked his head to the side, considering. "Guess I just don't want to fuck it up with you." 

Ian smiled, his whole face alight with happiness. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me." 

"Well, it IS Valentine's Day." Mickey smirked, crowding Ian until he was flat on his back on the sofa. Mickey hovered over him, unable to temper his smile. "And I'm nothing if not a traditionalist." 

Ian grinned up at him, his heart swelling. "I am for sure sending Tad a thank you note." 

Mickey's smile faltered, eyebrows high on his forehead. "What the fuck for? The sex toys?" 

"No." Ian shook his head, still smiling. He curled his fingers around the back of Mickey's head and pulled him down against him. "He gave me the best Valentine's gift I've ever gotten. My delivery guy." Ian beamed up at him and Mickey rolled his eyes. Suddenly, all Mickey's worrisome insecurities felt stupid. Ian was clearly interested in him, for whatever reason. Mickey's heart swelled at the thought. Suddenly, Valentine's Day didn't seem so pointless. 

"You are lucky you're next level hot, Gallagher, cuz you are one corny motherfucker." 

Ian just nodded, grinning harder. "But you dig me." 

Mickey closed the distance between them, kissing Ian hard. He pushed his tongue past Ian's lips, intensely pleased at the groan that erupted from Ian's throat. 

"Yeah." Mickey agreed, resting his forehead against Ian's. "God help me, I really do." 

Ian laughed, wrapping his arms around Mickey's waist and kissing him again. 

"Best Valentine's Day ever." Ian muttered against Mickey's lips. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but said nothing. 

He was inclined to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: all of the secret stalker gifts are real gifts you can buy online. ian's cologne is on a list of the world's worst colognes. it is for real, based on the smell of blood, spit and cum. and apparently, it smells disgusting. and Dead Rabbits Whiskey is also a real thing, which i am now desperate to try.

**Author's Note:**

> just some little thing for valentine's day. i promised my friend Karen i'd try to write some things with shorter chapters. looks like i failed.


End file.
